


Ancient History

by JaymiReignsAmbroseRollins3xox



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaymiReignsAmbroseRollins3xox/pseuds/JaymiReignsAmbroseRollins3xox
Summary: Follows the show with my added character Danica.





	1. The Red Serpent

Thunder booms from a clear sky. No, not thunder. The roar of a crowd. As the deafening sound splits the air, around  a wooden arena on the edge of the city. The crowd howls as a Murmillo Gladiator toys with Drenis, a bloodied Thracian prisoner. Drenis is a brute of a man, early 30s, with an unruly black beard. He wields only a sword against the shielded and armoured Murmillo. Time slows and accelerates  as the crowd watch over  the battle, Drenis and the Murmillo trading deadly blows. Their swords crash against each other. We see the blazing fierceness of his eyes, sweat coursing down his face from the exertion. The sounds of the crowd of the  fade replaced by the Murmillo's labored breathing.  Suddenly the battle stops when the crowd are baying for blood.  

"Hold your fucking tongues! Let the Roman have his say!" a great hulking man with a white beard and piercing blue eyes shouts out into the arena.   The men reluctantly quiet down, turning their eyes towards the front of the hall where Claudius Glaber stands with his tribune and a handful of Roman soldiers. Glaber, 40, handsome with the keen eyes of an ambitious man, is the Legatus (regional commander) of the Roman Army. "Thrace and the Republic have known their differences. We have not always been as brothers. Let us put such matters aside, uniting in just cause. " You pushed your way into our lands,and now you stand asking for our help, your hand extended?" the white haired man says bitterness clear in his voice. The men bellow in agreement but the Thracian remains quiet studying Glaber. Gauging the man. "I extend no hand. I am here merely to inform. Mithridates and his Greeks attack from the east,encroaching from the Black Sea" "Far removed from our villages." "True. But the Getae take advantage of the distraction. Their barbarian hordes amass to the north. Barely half a week's march from your villages." The Thracians grumble, exchanging concerned looks.   
"How many?" the white haired man asks.  "Thousands." Glaber replies.  An uproar. Glaber shouts over the din. "Align yourselves with Rome! Pledge your service to the auxiliary and join us in our campaign!" "To what end?" the Thracian shouts to be heard over the crowd. The men murmur, nodding at the question. Glaber surveys them confidently. "Victory" " And how is it to be measured? The Getae have raided our villages in the past. Killed our children. Raped our women. Each time we have pushed them back. Only to see them return." "He speaks out of turn. But truth falls from his mouth." the white haired man says turning to Glaber.   
"If we align ourselves with Rome, the purpose must be clear. The Getae dead. All of them." the Thracian says. "Dead. All of them." Glaber replies. The men roar their approval. The Thracian, standing proud among his people.   
A simple hut, lit by many candles. Sura a raven-haired beauty with the edge of a woman you do not want to fuck  with, kneels before a small shrine to Dionysus. A sword rests across her outstretched palms as she silently prays. The Thracian enters through a flap of animal skins behind her. Sura pauses not looking behind her. "The council has decided?" "We go to war." the Thracian replies.   
She nods, the news hitting her hard. She pushes aside her concern, rises with the sword in her hand.   
" I have asked the gods to bless your sword. With the blood of our enemies." She hands it to him. He slips it into a sheath criss-crossed with an ornate purple binding.   
"Once the Getae are wiped from our lands, there will be no reason to ever pick it up again." the Thracian says. Sura laughs at the thought. "And what would my husband do without it in his hands? she asks. "Grow crops. Raise goats. Make children."  He brushes a stray lock of hair from her face. "You would fight no more. Sura says. "Forever. To be by your side." 

Snow glitters across the muddy tertian. The Thracian, worse for wear after months of war, stands on a hill overlooking the Roman encampment. Thousands of torches reveal the perfect grids of the encampment, with the main command tent in the central square. The Thracian turns away, heading back into the shit and blood stained snow of the Thracian encampment. The Thracians are exhausted, battered, and malnourished. No well organized tents protecting them from the elements. Instead they huddle around makeshift camp fires animal skins pulled around them for warmth. Drenis, Byzo, and a knot of hard looking Thracians choke down bowls of oily soup. Drenis discards his in disgust, the bowl landing at the Thracian's feet. The Thracian picks up Drenis' bowl and scoops himself the dregs of the soup from a large kettle over the fire.    
The next morning the Thracian is sitting close to the dyeing embers of the fire watching the sun rise. He is sharpening his sword with a stone.  His weary, concerned eyes tell of no sleep. And worry for his wife's safety. A piercing horn  splits the air. The Thracian tenses. Finally, the call to arms. Shouts erupt, followed by Byzo and the other men hustling to gather their gear. Spartacus nudges Drenis. "Up" he says. "The Romans sound the call. Up you drunken goat the Legatus has gained his senses." He ignores whatever the other man says gathering his gear. Glaber rides to them and the Thracian asks to have words witch Glaber grants. " Surely you mean west, as the Getae advance" he says looking Glaber straight in the eyes. Glaber just looks down at the Thracian from his horse like he is nothing more then fucking dirt. " Mithridates and his Greeks are of pressing concern. You have aligned yourself with Rome. I am its body and voice. We march east to the Black Sea. Fall to formation." He orders.   
"No" the Thracian says. The air electrifies. A ripple of uncertainty passes through the Thracian Soldiers. Glaber glares down at The Thracian. "You would defy an order from your Legatus? "I gave my word to defend against the Getae. Not to march east to attack Mithridates." "You will march where commanded!" Glaber roars. Glaber suddenly draws his sword to strike The Thracian. The Thracian reacts, grabbing the bridle of Glaber's horse and yanking hard. The horse rears back. And Glaber falls. His soldiers react quickly drawing their swords.   
The Thracian registers shock at the sudden turn of misfortune. The path of his life has just veered sharply. The Tribune swings his sword. Time seems to slow as The Thracian whips his head back to avoid the blow. The Tribune's blade severs a hunk of the Thracian's unruly mane. And all hell brakes lose. 

After the Thracians make a brake for it everyone going back to their homes. Back the their lives. As he walks through the tress the Thracian sees four  Barbarians surrounding someone. He sees it is his wife and throws his sword in their direction his wife ducking and just avoiding the sword. He then attacks and kills the other barbarians. Sura runs into his arms and kisses him. They decide to travel south away from most dangers.   
The Thracian lies naked under his cloak, Sura nestled against him. He stirs, his eyes finding her. Even more radiant in slumber. His gaze moves down her body to her bear leg half exposed. A bit of fabric flutters. He eases the blanket back, revealing the purple binding tied once again to her thigh. His fingers caress it. Sura stirs. She smiles sleepily, eyes sparkling with love -- until a shadow eclipses them, the source filling her with terror. The Thracian whips around to find Roman soldiers now looming over them. He grabs for his sword but a soldier's boot slams down on his arm. The Thracian grunts in pain. Sura screams as calloused hands rip her from the crude bed hoisting her naked into the morning air. "Sura!" the Thracian calls out. Boots slam into him as he is kicked into submission. Sura is dragged away. The Thracian desperately struggles to follow.   
WHAM! A boot catches him in the face.  Blood arcs from his mouth, the crimson wave hanging in the air for a moment. The Thracian's head swims, his eyes forced back into focus by the appearance of Glaber astride his horse riding up with more soldiers.  A gash creases Glaber's brow from his fall from his horse in the Auxiliary encampment. The Thracian is yanked to his feet. "Did you truly believe? That insurrection could be cast without consequence?" Glaber says as he dismounts is horse confronting the Thracian. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out an official looking scroll wrapped around a heavy, ornate rod. 

"Now orders recalling me to Rome. All from your hand." Glaber says. The Thracian spits blood, and glares. "I own my actions. But my wife --" "Has been condemned to slavery, courtesy of her husband." The Thracian lunges, but the soldiers hold him back. "The shadow of Rome is vast. And you, Thracian, will die under it." Glaber swings the dispatch. It finds The Thracian's jaw, snapping his head from the impact. His eyes unfocused, legs turning to jelly as the soldiers release him. He falls the ground below him transforming into the inky black abyss of unconsciousness. He tumbles down into it, swallowed by the void vast and impenetrable. A beat. A sound rises  the creaking of wood. A drop of water hits the void, rippling and dissolving the darkness to reveal the  Thracian, battered and unconscious. Water drips on his face,refreshing the dried, caked blood. 

They are at sea for what feels like years to the Thracian when they finally arrive on dry land and their destination  Capua.   
"Quintus Lentulus Batiatus! Step forward and present your gladiators!" Senator Albinius says. Batiatus, a thick, boisterous man in his 50s, appears on a platform in the center of the courtyard. "In honour of Senator Albinius and the people of Capua, I give you Barca! The Beast of Carthage!" The Guests applaud as Barca, a wild giant of a man, climbs the platform. He grunts, grinning viciously for their amusement. "Yet his ferocity pales against the titan of the arena! The god of blood and sand! Crixus! The undefeated Gaul!" Batiatus cheers. Crixus takes his place besides Barca. Smaller than Barca but more powerfully built, Crixus radiates calm, deadly menace. The Guests greet him with cheers. "Gratitude to Batiatus! Now to Marcus Decius Solonius, and his offerings!"   
Batiatus and his men move off as Solonius, mid 40s, a tall, severe man with a shaved head takes the platform. "In honour of Senator Albinius and the people of Capua, I give you six of my finest men! Behold Arkadios! Scourge of Athens!" Arkadios, an ugly, scarred brute, takes the platform to the cheers of the crowd. Batiatus joins his wife Lucretia, a striking woman very much his junior. "  
A Greek! The bald headed cock offers a common Greek! Like digging in the backyard to provide dinner for your guests." " You promised to hold silent." Lucretia says. " I promise many things. And keep fewer." her husband replies. "Preening shit eater. A mockery to the profession." "A mockery then." 

"Gratitude to Solonius! But water and games are distant praise for the city that has held the name Albinius as its own. More is deserved! And the gods have seen fit to bestow it in the form of my daughter's husband, Legatus Claudius Glaber, newly returned from the savage lands of Thrace!" Albinius waves his hand, directing the crowd to Glaber as he enters with his Soldiers. The Thracian prisoners are presented in his wake. The prisoners eye the scene, overwhelmed -- except for The Thracian, who stares with dead, lifeless eyes. The crowd titters. "More gifts for the people of Capua! Six Thracian jackals! Deserters from the war against the barbaric Getae! To be executed ad gladium in tomorrow's games!" Glaber says a smirk evident on his face. Cheers of excitement as the Guests crowd for a better look. Glaber basks in the triumph. Ilithyia beams, taking her father's arm.   
The clash of wooden swords draws The Thracian's attention to Arkadios and another of Solonius' men atop the platform. A demonstration in fighting techniques for the pleasure of the crowd. Batiatus passes with Lucretia, eyeing the Thracians. "Thracians. Between those animals and Solonius' inferior offerings... A mockery, on all accounting." Batiatus. "Glaber mentions execution. Perhaps a word could lend our men to the task." Lucretia says. "The position has been occupied."   
Batiatus turns to find Solonius, his rival, near at hand. Batiatus instantly shifts into a mask of delight. 

The crowd howls as Arkadios (the Murmillo Gladiator) toys with a bloodied Drenis. The Thracian standing behind the bars of the prison pen set into the arena wall, watching Drenis struggle for his life. He glances back, revealing the mangled bodies of Byzo and the other Thracian deserters littering the floor of the pen. They've already stepped into the arena. And fared poorly. The roar of the crowd pulls him back with hope to the Arena where Drenis surges forward, attacking. Arkadios expertly counters, swinging around and slicing open Drenis' arm. He grunts in pain, recovers to attack. ArkdiIos counters, his sword catching the sun as it finds Drenis' neck, opening it to the bone in a spray of blood. Drenis falls to his knees, forcing a last defiant smile before giving himself to the sand. 

 The gate to the prison pen grinds open. The Thracian steps out with his sword, disoriented by the sun and the crowd. Arkadios waves him forward. Time to die. The Thracian's hand tightens on his sword. He steps forward to meet his fate, but as he does three more  Gladiators hustle into the ring, surrounding the Thracian. Each Gladiator is from a different classification: Secutor(axe),Hoplomachus (spear), and Retiariu (trident and net). The crowd murmurs in disapproval. Four against one. Unfair, and very unRoman.   
The Thracian turns, trying to keep each of the Gladiators in check as they close in. The Retiarius swings his net lazily overhead, the checker board shadow ebbing and flowing across The Thracian's sweat drenched face. Then the Hoplomachus begins the attack, thrusting his spear out. The Thracian snaps his head out of the way, sweat erupting from the force. He counters, spinning to kick the Hoplomachus back. The Retiarius sweeps in with his net, catching The Thracian's foot and yanking him from his feet. He crashes to the sand, narrowly rolling out of the way as Arkadios thrusts down with his sword. The Thracian’s blade flashes out, cutting him free of the net. He rolls to his feet but is instantly set upon by the Secutor. The Thracian is knocked off balance. The Hoplomachus swing  his spear the arc of the tip opening a gash across The Thracian's back. The Pulvinus Glaber grins in satisfaction. Albinius is unreadable. Batiatus less so. " A mockery." 

The Gladiators play cat and bloody mouse with The Thracian, opening up repeated wounds on his ravaged body. The Thracian tries to rally, but Arkadios slams him with his shield. The Thracian falls to his knees in the blood-soaked sand. The boo of the Crowd fades from the Thracian's ears, replaced by the sound of his own laboured breathing. His eyes unfocus as he struggles to retain consciousness. A droplet of blood breaks free from his face -- but never makes it to the ground. Instead it slows, hanging impossibly in mid-air. The Thracian stares in hallucinatory wonder as blood rises like steam from the sand to join the droplet, twisting together to form a great red serpent writhing in the air. Sura's spectral vision. The Thracian stares at it in wonder, the words of his wife carried on the hot breeze: "Kill them all." The Thracian grits his teeth, drawing strength from her words. As he focuses through the pain, the red serpent dissipates, morphing into a  snake standard carved into Arkadios' shield. Splattered with blood, the snake-adorned shield has taken on the deep red hue of Sura's vision. The droplet of blood from The Thracian's face resumes its journey, falling to the sand. The sounds of the arena crash back up as Arkadios raises his sword for the death blow. 

The Thracian explodes, his own blade flashing in the sun as he runs Arkadios through the gut with his sword. The crowd goes silent. A frozen moment.  The Thracian breaks it by rearing to his feet and splitting  Arkadios in half from belly to shoulder as he yanks his sword up in a spray of blood and internal organs. The crowd erupts, roaring their approval. The Thracian gains strength from it, engaging the remaining three Gladiators with renewed  purpose. The Thracian trades blows with the remaining three Gladiators in a display of raw savagery. The Secutor rears back and hurls his axe at The Thracian's head. The Thracian barely bends out of the way. As the axe passes in front of his face, he sees the reflection of the Retiarius raising his trident to attack from behind. The axe whizzes past The Thracian, accidentally slamming into the Hoplomachus killing him instantly. 

The Retiarius thrusts his trident at The Thracian's back, but he whirls, diving under it. The Thracian swings his sword and cleanly severs the legs out from under the Retiarius. The Retiarius screams, blood spraying as he falls to the sand. The Secutor desperately tries to yank his axe free from his fallen comrade's chest as the Thracian rises, dripping with blood and gore, his eyes burning. Just as the Secutor frees his axe The Thracian hurls his sword  the blade slamming into the Gladiator's neck. He goes down,spewing blood from his helmet as he dies. The crowd goes insane. The Retiarius,tries to crawl away, his severed legs leaving a trail of gore like a great injured slug. The Thracian retrieves the fallen trident and slams it into the  Retiarius' skull pinning the man to the ground. He twitches, goes still. The crowd roars. The Thracian sways, more dead than alive as he locks eyes with Glaber in the Pulvinus. Glaber fumes. Albinius gauges the approval of the crowd. "Live! Live! Let him live!" he crowd chant. "This presents some difficulty." Albinius says. "The penalty of death still stands." Glaber interjects. "But to defy the wishes of the crowd... Unwise. Even for a senator." Glaber erupts unable to hold in his anger. "He gave me grievance! I will not see him freed."   
Batiatus, sensing opportunity, interjects. "A solution, perhaps, if you will entertain, Legatus? The Thracian's shown promise in the arena --albeit against Solonius' inferior stock. I have a batch of new recruits, arriving tomorrow. If I were to purchase this man to addition, to be trained at my ludus in the gladiatorial arts... Why in his condition, I doubt he'll survive to the quarter moon." Glaber starts to protest, but the shouts of the crowd still his tongue. He lowers his eyes, acquiescing. Albinius rises. "We will be merciful. And by such gain the favour you seek. "What name does the man carry?" Albinius asks. "I never cared to ask." Glaber says. "The way he fights -- like the legend of the Thracian King of old. Spartacus, he was called." Batiatus says.   
"People of Capua! This man -- this Spartacus -- has proven himself in the arena. For this... Legatus Claudius Glaber and I grant him LIFE!" The thunderous cheer of the crowd assaults The Thracian, now forever known to history as Spartacus. He stares up at them through the haze of blood and pain. The Libitinarii swarm in as he collapses, finally succumbing to his wounds. They carry him Christ-like from the arena as the Crowd chants his name.   
His eyes flutter shut, plunging us into darkness.


	2. Sacramentum Gladiatorum

Spartacus is laying laying on an examination table, a shaft of light illuminating him. Unconscious. Bruises and scrapes from his gladiator battle tattoo his skin, but his lacerations have been crudely stitched. A hand rests on Spartacus and his eyes fly open grabbing the hand. Sura. Battered and bloodied from her ordeal steps into the light. He pulls her into a kiss. Spartacus jolts awake. Sura no where to be seen. Just a dream.  Batiatus glances over, conferring with the medicus, a bare-chested, rotund man with a great unkempt beard. Batiatus sniffs, not caring for Spartacus' scent. "Have him taken to the baths. But first attend to all that fucking hair." he says sweeping out of the room. The Medicus picks up a razor sharp blade. He nods to the guards, who hold Spartacus down. He struggles as the Medicus descends on him and roughly begins slicing off his hair. A thick hunk of his mane falls to the ground.    
Batiatus strides across the Mess Hall, which is empty except for a few slaves preparing porridge. He glances out into the training square where 50 of his hardened Gladiators are finishing up another day of punishing training. Doctore coils his whip as they break off for food and the baths. A guard  
intercepts Batiatus with a scroll. "Dominus." Batiatus takes it with a frown -- which brightens as he quickly scans the scroll. He hustles for the gate separating the Mess Hall from the stairs leading up to the villa. Another guard opens it for him, closing it as he disappears up the stairs.   
Batiatus comes through the gate separating the ludus from the villa. Two guards lock it behind him as he moves up the stairs and through his villa, a once grand monument now fading into disrepair. He reaches The atrium where his wife Lucretia stands frowning into a dried up pool in the center of the room. Danica, her young body slave, is at her side. "The pool is dry." She says. "We need rain." her husband replies. He continues through the villa Lucretia follows with Danica in tow.    
"How fares your new pet?" Lucretia asks. "He breathes." Batiatus says there is no emotion in his voice. "His cost was enough to fill our pool for a month. You paid beyond the asking." Lucretia grinds out. "I paid the man's worth, Lucretia." Batiatus and Lucretia enter the bed chambers. Danica follows, joining a handful of other attending slaves. "Spartacus is a corpse yet walking. How long before he takes his place in the grave, dragging your investment with him?" the woman asks. "Not before he serves his purpose." Batiatus produces a small scroll from his robes. "From Legatus Claudius Glaber." This not only catches Lucetia's attention but Danica's as well. "His intentions?" "Nudging toward my desires." He hands her the scroll and she unravels it reading. Batiatus begins undressing with the help of the slaves. Lucretia follows suit, with Danica attending.   
Lucretia smiles as she stretches out on the bed. Naked. Powerful in her sexuality. Batiatus glances down at his nakedness with a frown. Lucretia signals a female slave to prepare Batiatus for lovemaking. The Slave gets on her knees, "fluffing" him. Lucretia's hand drops between her legs, preparing herself for her husband. Danica fans her.   
Naked Gladiators laugh and bathe, or, more accurately, scrape. Water is in scarce supply due to the drought, the bath sitting empty. Instead olive oil is applied to the Gladiators, then scraped off removing dirt and blood. Spartacus hair cut short and beard hacked to the stubble, is thrust into the room by two guards. The room goes silent as Spartacus stumbles to the floor. Crixus a hard motherfucking Gaul stares down at Spartacus. "Lick my hole. The pig-fucker's still alive." he says laughing. The Gladiators laugh. Barca, a brute of a man carved from solid granite, shrugs off Pietros a slim, pretty slave attending him. "This is the one? The Spartacus everyone's been pissing about?" Barca laughs. "Spartacus? My name is" "No one gives shit to who you were, Thracian." Crixus says.   
The harsh sun of Capua blazes in the sky. Spartacus and six recruits are lined up for inspection in the center of the square, bare chests glistening in the heat. Spartacus finds himself next to Varro, a handsome young slab of beef. Varro stands out among the slave recruits, intelligence and pride shining in his eyes. A hundred men ring the square. Hard. Cruel. Gladiators. They laugh and point, indicating the obvious shortcomings of the Recruits. "Pile of shit. Not a cock among them." Ashur says. "You should join them, then, you little cunt." Crixus fires back. Barca laughs. Ashur chuckles good-naturedly, but the venom in his eyes is clear for all to see.   
Doctore, the trainer, strides up with whip in hand. Powerful and commanding, the harsh Capuan sun deepening the valley of scars marring half his imposing face. The Gladiators respectfully quiet. Doctore pins the Recruits with an iron gaze. "What is beneath your feet?" he questions. The Recruits glance down in confusion at the sand. All except Spartacus, who holds his gaze on Doctore. "Crixus! What is beneath your feet?" he bellows. "Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!" he replies. "Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives, forged into something of worth. Turn your eyes from your gods and fix them upon me. Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As gladiators. Now, attend your master!" he says turning indicating the balcony where Batiatus now stands with Lucretia and Danica who catches Spartacus' eye and slightly smiles at him. He does not not smile back only look at her. He is taken out of his thoughts when Batiatus begins to speak.   
"You have been blessed! Each and every one of you, to find yourselves here, in the ludus of Quintus Lentulus Batiatus! Finest purveyor of gladiators in all the Republic! Prove yourself, in the hard days to follow. Prove yourself more than a common slave. Prove yourself more than a man. Fail, and die. Either here where you stand, or sold off to the mines to perish forgotten by love or history. Succeed, and stand proud among my titans!" he finishes his speech. The Gladiators roar their approval. Spartacus takes them in with contempt and hatred. Batiatus motions for Doctore to continue. Doctore cracks his whip silencing the uproar. He surveys the Recruits with dissatisfaction. "A Gladiator does not fear death. He embraces it. Caresses it. Fucks it. Each time he enters the arena, he slips his cock into the mouth of the beast. And prays to thrust home before the jaws snap shut." Doctore whacks Kerza in the crotch with his coiled whip. Kerza grunts, dropping to the ground. The Gladiators laugh, as does Batiatus on the balcony, enjoying the show.  
"None of you stray dogs would last a fleeting moment. Except for one....." His eyes fall on Spartacus. "This sad, battered Thracian stood against four in the arena. Condemned to die, given nothing but a sword to wager his life upon. They came at him! Again and again and again! The day was lost. But not for the Thracian! He refused Death! Fate! The gods themselves! Gaze at this man! Study him. And realize... he is nothing. A coward. A deserter from the Auxiliary. A frightened little rabbit." Spartacus locks eyes with Doctore as Danica watches on from the balcony wishing to run down and step in but keeps her place knowing her punishment. Instead she grits her teeth. "And his victory in the arena? As hollow as his courage. He fought against the ill-trained men of Solonius, your master's rival. A mockery! Had Spartacus entered the arena with any Gladiator among these ranks, his head would have left well in advance of his body!" Doctore continues. Spartacus glances up at Batiaus Challenging. Defiant.   
"The Thracian disagrees. A demonstration, perhaps?" Doctore says. Batiatus waves his permission. "Crixus!" he barks. Crixus grins, taking his place front and center. He's going to enjoy this. Doctore barks an order to Pietros. Pietros grabs two wooden swords from a rack of weapons, hustles over. He gives one to Crixus, the other to Doctore. He tosses the sword at Spartacus' feet. "Prove us wrong, Spartacus." Spartacus glares, then looks away. Doctore uncoils his whip. "pick it up." Spartacus ignores him. Danica is now extremely worried.  "Spartacus." Doctore rears back with his whip. Time seems to slow as the leather contrails through the air.  Spartacus throws his arm up at the last second -- not to defend himself, but to catch it as it snaps around his wrist. Blood rises as  the leather digs into Spartacus' flesh. Veins start from muscles. Spartacus glares at Doctore. "That is not my name." He spits. Doctore suddenly yanks the whip. Spartacus is lifted from his feet. Crashing Spartacus to the sand by the wooden sword.   
"Pick it up." There is a moment of silence before Spartacus stands kicking the sword aside in defiance.  Varro frowns. Not a smart move. Doctore snorts. "Perhaps the coward requires advantage to still his trembling knees. Gladius!" Pietros grabs a real sword from the rack, hands it to Doctore. Doctore tosses it to land several lengths in front of Spartacus. He glances at it... and looks away. Doctore laughs in disappointment, turns to Batiatus on the balcony. "I can do nothing with this one. Send him to the mines." Spartacus suddenly dives.  He snatches the gladius up, rolls to his feet, and swings at Doctore. Crixus intercepts  deflecting the blow with his practice sword. Crixus grins. "Feeling rested are we?" Crixus kicks him back. Spartacus stumbles, nearly loses his footing. He regains it just as Crixus attacks. He's a marvel of speed and grace, every movement a brutal poem. Doctore circles, pointing out Spartacus' deficiencies for the recruits.   
"An attack must be grounded in proper footing. He attempts to press before regaining balance." Spartacus snarls, swinging savagely. Against a normal opponent the tactic would ensure victory. Crixus avoids each blow, the gladius  inches from his flesh. Crixus sidesteps spinning to catch Spartacus in the back of the knee. Spartacus goes down with a grunt of pain. The Gladiators roar. Crixus laughs, enjoying the lesson. "Allow advantage to your back... and you are dead." Spartacus staggers to his feet and attacks. He drives Crixus back with his fury. Crixus catches Spartacus' sword arm in mid blow with his free hand, Spartacus the same. A test of strength ensues, muscles straining in the sun. Danica has had enough. She storms from her place next to Lucretia who calls after but she does not listen. Breaking out into a run she reaches the training ground and grabs a real sword. Running at Crixus when he knocks Spartacus to the ground.   
He just deflects her blow pushing her to the ground as well. She gets straight back to her feet. Going for him again this time its Crixus who ends up on the ground. Batiatus Lucretia Doctore and the Gladiators watch with total shock.  Doctore raises his whip ready to strike Danica. "Don't! Let them continue" Batiatus calls out. The fight goes on and eventually its Crixus who ends up on his ass in defeat. "What’s this the mighty fucking Gaul put on his ass by a fucking body slave." Danica snarls. Crixus tries to push her off but she does not budge instead she punches him in the face repeatedly until Batiatus calls out her name. "Danica." She rolls off of Crixus and gets to her feet and goes to walk off but before she can she is stopped by Varro who whispers something to her.  She turns around to face everyone else who are still in shock. "Danica! Come back her at once!" Lucretia demands. "No." Batiatus says. "She will now be trained by Doctore to become a Gladiator." With that Doctore pushes her in line between Spartacus and Varro and they continue training.   
"Are you mad!?" Lucretia snaps at Batiatus when they enter the villa. "No. She will not last long. She will not last long. She will either cave or be killed. Or face something far worse." He says casually. Lucretia suddenly catches on to what he means and grins. "Why you are an evil barstared." she says smiling wickedly at her husband.   
Spartacus Varro Danica and the other recruits are put through their paces in the scorching heat. Blows are exchanged with wooden swords and shields. Danica fights with grim determination. She counters a move, smashes a  recruit  across the face with her shield. Training ends for the day and the Gladatiors go in to clean up and eat. Danica sits by herself lost in thought as Spartacus and Varro join her. "Shit-fucking slaves and criminals, the lot of them." Varro says. "Are we the better?" She replies. "You survived the fucking Gaul. No. You are of a difference, slave. Above this unfortunate collection." Spartacus says before Varro can answer. They continue to speak.   
Spartacus, Varro, Danica   Kerza, and the other Recruits sprawl on the floor, exhausted. Shackles bind their wrists and ankles for the night. They are engaged in conversation. The cell door swings open. Doctore and the Guards stand in the doorway. "Up! You will sleep when you prove yourself men." Everyone is on their feet in seconds. The moon bathes the square in silver. Even at night, the temperature is sweltering. Danica and the Recruits slowly plod through the sand, marching a never-ending circle as they carry heavy log sections across their shoulders. Danica slows, legs straining and sweat starting from slick, trembling muscles. Doctores whip lashes out raising a bloody welt across Danica's back. "Keep pace!" She grits her teeth through the pain.    
Batiatus stands watching naked from the balcony. He sips a cup of wine, worry etching his face. Lucretia joins him, wearing a gauzy sleeping gown. Half awake, just roused from slumber. "It is late." she says coming up behind her husband. "It is. Return to your dreams." he says. She smiles dreamily, taking the cup of wine from his hand. "in a moment." She sips, then frowns. "We need better wine." she says. "We need many things." Batiatus replies "And we'll have them. Again." Her hand strokes the back of his head. A familiar gesture of love and affection. He smiles absently, taking strength from it. She heads back in, a vision in the moonlight. Batiatus takes a breath, exhales as he casts his eyes heavenward.   
The next morning the Recruits still march with the logs across their backs. Muscles strain. Sweat drips. Doctore yells"Halt!" They wearily drop their logs and head inside to eat. Varro works his shoulder, grimacing in pain. "Jupiter's cock. Now we train all day? he says. "Still believe every man or woman will live to see the test?" Spartacus asks. Varro casts a frown at Kerza and the remaining Recruits. Half dead from the night's exertion. "Yes. Mostly." "Yet the fool, then." Danica says. She takes in the haggard Recruits. The thought is a bitter thing in Danica's mouth. "Wake me when its time to die again" Varro says as he moves off into the shade leaving Danica and Spartacus on their own. "I never got to thank you." Spartacus says just above a whisper. Danica blushes slightly. "I couldnt just leave you to get killed. Your something special Thracian." she whispers back. "Says the one that defeated shit faced Gaul..." Spartacus doesn’t finish as he is interrupted by Asher. "The day will be hard. Without food, more so. And a pretty lady like you needs to eat." He says into Danica's ear. Spartacus tenses ready to fight. "Would Asher kindly fuck off." she says raising her voice a little at the end. "Oh the slave bitch has balls." Asher mocks. Danica elbows him in the cock making him hit the ground were she straddles him and punches him in the face until arms are put around her ad she is pulled off. "The piece of Roman shit is not worth it." Spartacus says as he pins Danica to the wall in attempt to calm her down.   
When she is calm Spartacus lets her go and watches her storm off in the direction Varro went. He grabs something from the table and follows Danica. Spartacus tears a loaf of bread, tossing half onto Varro's stomach. Varro in half creaks an eye open, annoyed at the disturbance. His mood brightens as he grabs up the unexpected meal. Spartacus then splits his half again passing one half to Danica who is sat between him and Varro. "How did you manage this?" Varro asks. Spartacus rips a hunk of bread off with his teeth, chews. "By playing the odds." Something catches Varro's eye behind Spartacus. "I fear they're about to worsen." Spartacus turns to see two Guards hustling up. They descend on him.   
Dark and filthy. Dim shafts of light stab through the gloom. A few rusted cages litter the floor, just large enough to stuff a man into. Chains hang from the walls. Spartacus' wrists are shackled to a set.  He hears footsteps approaching from the corridor.  The cell door grinds open. Spartacus tenses as he sees Legatus Claudius Glaber entering in all his Roman glory. "Glaber" Spartacus spits " You will address me by title of Legatus." Spartacus lunges at him, enraged. The chains snap him an inch short of his mark. "Where is she?" he snarls. "Who? That little wife of yours?" "Where?" "Where ever I please." Glaber spits out his mocking response, his careful composure cracking. The Thracian has cost him dearly, driving him to the brink.   
"She served you no grievance." Spartacus replies almost too calm. "None. But you... You have grieved me. Stirring the auxiliary to desertion. Putting my command in question, imperiling my standing with the senate...And you grieve me again in the arena, by not knowing when to die." Glaber says "My life, then. In exchange for hers." Spartacus says. "Your life is no longer yours to bargain! If I wish it ceased, I need but whisper and good Batiatus will command it!" the Legatus snaps. "Then tongue the words in his ear. I will not beg." the Thracian growls. "You mistake me, Thracian. True, I sought death in repayment of your slights. I see the error of that now. Wishing for an end too quick. No. My desires have turned to blood. Spilled by the drop, over time, until you are drained. As I told you before, the shadow of Rome is vast. And you will yet die under it. Sliver by sliver, to the roar of the crowd."   
Glaber turns to exit then pauses. "A parting kindness, to bind us." He produces a familiar purple binding from his robes. The one Spartacus tied to Sura's thigh before heading off to war. Spartacus stares at it, his heart rending. "I took it from her thigh to preserve the scent. Before my men stained it with theirs. She was a savage amusement. When the fight ran from her eyes, I sold her to an unpleasant Syrian for half a coin." He lets the binding fall to the ground. Spartacus falls to his knees, struggling against the chains to reach it. "The Thracian finally learns his place before me. On his knees."   
Glaber sweeps out, his purpose realized. Spartacus strains for Sura's binding, drawing blood from where the shackles circle his wrists. He finally latches onto it, tears of regret and rage streaking his anguished face. He screams, a primal, savage sound. Spartacus' anguish echoes through the corridor. Glaber allows himself the hint of a smile as he joins Batiatus, waiting for him in the corridor with two Guards. 

Doctore puts the recruits (sans Spartacus) through combat forms, sparring with wooden swords.   
Crixus and the senior Gladiators train apart from them. Muscles and sweat gleaming with temptation. Ilithyia steps out next to Lucretia, eyes wide at the sight. "Is that Danica down there?" she asks shocked. "Yes" Lucretia replies. 

The fighting men of the ludus yell encouragement and insults at Varro who is trading thunderous blows with Gnaeus, one of the senior Gladiators. Real swords. Real shields. No helmets. The battle rages atop a testing bridge that has been erected in the center of the training square. Six feet off the ground, twenty feet long, no rails, a ramp on either side. Gnaeus is largely unscathed. Varro grits his teeth, bloodied and exhausted but refusing to give in. The senior Gladiators urge the combatants on as we rotate around the bridge, torches ringing the scene to illuminate the night. Doctore stalks, his eyes dissecting every stroke and counter for future reference. Spartacus stands with Kerza Danica and the other Recruits, waiting his turn on the bridge. Spartacus' face is unreadable. Distant. Haunted.   
"Cease! Varro has stood to a draw! The test is passed!" Batiatus calls from the balcony. The Gladiators roar their approval. Varro beams. Gnaeus greets him as a brother as they descend the ramp. "Crixus! Danica! Positions!" Danica steps over Marcus' body as she takes her place on the bridge. Crixus grins from the other side, eyeing Danica like a meal to be devoured. "A final lesson, before I send you to the afterlife." Danica, lost in thought, doesn't meet his gaze. Varro notes this with concern. Crixus braces himself for the  wild  assault. It doesn't come. Danica stands motionless, seeing the world through the haze of a heavy heart. The Gladiators murmur disapproval. Varro sags. "Fuck." Varro says softly. "Fight! Fight, you bitch!" Asher shouts. Danica ignores him.   
Batiatus sighs. Doctore was right. Danica is uncontrollable. Batiatus motions for Crixus to attack and end it. Crixus rushes forward, sword rearing back for the death blow.  Danica deflects Crixus' attack at the last second, her eyes snapping open with deadly focus. They trade blows worthy of the gods. Varro futilely attempts to keep his hopes in check as Danica whirls and attacks.  Crixus presses, spins, smashes Danica with his own shield. Blood sprays from Danica's mouth as she crashes to the floor of the bridge, stunned, her blade falling from her hand. Crixus looks to Batiatus for approval to finish Danica once and for all. Batiatus hisses condemnation for Danica's entire race. 

He waves Crixus on to the matter. Crixus grins, rearing his sword back to cleave Danica's head open. Through the blood dripping in her eyes she spots Spartacus . As Crixus brings his weapon to bear. Danica rolls out of its path and grabs Crixus' ankle, yanking with all her strength. Crixus flies from his feet, cracking his head as he tumbles from the bridge. He hits the sand hard, dazed, struggling toward his senses. Danica grabs her fallen sword and leaps down. "The lesson is well learned." She rears back with an enraged snarl, intent on having the Gaul's head. "Danica." Batiatus shouts. She pauses in her grim work throwing Batiatus a wild look. "You have passed the test. Stand down."  A tense beat. Lucretia's knuckles go white from gripping the balcony. Danica calms, lowering her sword -- and her eyes -- in deference to Batiatus. "Dominus." There is no venom in the word. Merely acceptance. Lucretia remembers to breathe. Batiatus smiles in satisfaction. The beast has been tamed. The Gladiators roar. Ashur shouts in triumph as Barca and Gnaeus rush to help Crixus. Varro grins in relief, rushing to Danica's side. 

Later that that day they are all marked and become part of the brotherhood. Spartacus Varro and Danica turn their backs to everyone else. A silent promise to always be there and look out for each other. But more importantly love each other.


	3. Legends

Spartacus firmly secures his subligaria (the loincloth worn by most gladiators). -- Attaches a quilted padded wrapping to his leg. -- Fastens an iron greave over the wrap, the armor extending a little above his knee. His legs completely armored, Spartacus picks up Sura's purple binding. A reminder of his wife, of why he fights. He gently kisses it before tying it around his forearm and securing his manica (forearm guard) over it.   
Spartacus' manica slams the side of Kerza's head, sending him crashing to the sand. Spartacus charges in, raising his wooden practice sword to bash Kerza. "Spartacus!" Doctore yells. Spartacus pauses. Doctore approaches, curling his whip. Varro Danica and a knot of other Gladiators glance over from their training. "You charge without thought. A weakness your opponent could turn to advantage." "A difficult feat from his backside." "You speak without thought as well." Lightning fast, Doctore sweeps Spartacus' legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the sand. "Another weakness." Crixus,  laughs heartily alongside Barca. "Thracians. Always on their backs, with legs spread." Barca says. "Where they belong." Crixus adds in. 

"Forget everything you have learned outside these walls. For that is the world of men." Doctore says as he locks eyes with Spartacus. Spartacus rises as Doctore proceeds to march across the lineup of Gladiators. Hammering his point home. "We are more! We are Gladiators! Study. Train. Bleed. And one day your name will be legend, spoken in hushed whispers of fear and awe. As the city speaks of Crixus, the champion of Capua!" The men laugh and cheer. Crixus grins at Spartacus, who eyeballs him a "fuck you" in return. "But his legend was not birthed in the arena. It was given life here. In this ludus. Under the sting of my whip! Attack!" Training resumes. Kerza rushes Spartacus with malicious intent, and we begin the training montage the sun rises and falls. Days and weeks pass as we witness Spartacus Varro and Danica's crash course into the brutal world of the gladiator.    
Spartacus and Varro spar. Varro defends a move, grins, then counters with a volley of his own. A worthy adversary, Varro takes several swings at Spartacus, who just manages to deflect them with his wooden shield. Spartacus spins and counters, knocking Varro's sword loose. Spartacus smashes him with his shield, slamming Varro to the ground. He leaps atop him, pressing his wooden sword to Varro's throat. He looks to Doctore who only scowls at him. Spartacus helps Varro up and out of the sand.   
Kerza crashes to the sand, his legs hopelessly tangled in Gnaeus' Retiarius net. Gnaeus pounces, pressing his trident to Kerza's throat. Doctore barks to the rest of the men watching the training session. "Never lose focus! Not if Jupiter were to rip open the heavens and dangle his cock from the skies! A gladiator's first distraction is his last. But not all contests end in death." Doctore glares at Kerza. Kerza sighs in failure, extends his right arm, raising two fingers. An act of submission. "Two fingers. A sign of surrender. And shame." Doctore waves Gnaeus off. Spartacus glowers, grumbling to Varro and Danica. "The oath I swore to this place did not including begging." Doctore whips his head around, having heard. Varro quickly tries to cover. "He inquires as to the nuances of" Varro begins. "I need no lesson in submission." Danica sighs. There's no helping Spartacus now. " You favor a different lesson? In obedience, perhaps? To the hole! All of you!" Danica does a double take -- me?   
A hole about twenty feet deep littered with garbage, shit, and dead animals. Shit and slop being dumped in from above.  Spartacus Varro and Danica standing waist deep in the sludge, splattered with it. A beat. "Perhaps I spoke out of turn." Spartacus says. "Perhaps? What I perceived as courage in you reveals itself foolishness." "To surrender in the arena... It is something I cannot do. I must have victory." His eyes drop to Sura's binding. He wipes a spot of sludge away from it, jaw setting in determination. "What happens when that is something you cannot provide?" Danica asks speaking her first words since being in the hole. Spartacus doesn't have an answer. Danica snorts. "Silence, then. Next time you vex Doctore, you'll find my tongue of a similar fashion." she says turning away from her friends. 

"Your company here was not my intent." Spartacus says. "Yet here I stand beside you, my cock soaking in the same shit." Varro spits.  "Apologies." "That's all? No reason behind it, no glimpse into the fevered brain of what the fuck are you doing?" Danica says. "I seek only to please Batiatus." Spartacus replies. "Pluto's asshole. The answer has no balance with your actions." Varro exclaims. Spartacus hesitates, uncertain if he should give voice to his reasoning. Yet the weight is heavy, and must be shared. "He has made a promise." "Of what? What could he offer a man who seeks neither fame nor glory." Varro asks. "My wife. Taken from me when I was captured by the Romans. I prevail in the arena, and he will find her." Danica's heart sinks a little at this. Varro looks at him, seeing this entirely new dimension. 

"Is she worth it? The suffering. The pain." Varro asks. "She is worth everything." Spartacus says just above a whisper. "As is mine. Two years here. Pay my debts with the winnings, and hold her in my arms again. Perhaps the smell will have washed off by then." Varro says a slight smile on his face. Naya and Spartacus grin. "What name do you call her?" Danica asks. "Aurelia. Yours?" Varro replies. "Sura" A look is exchanged. A bond forged between the three of them. "So. Buried up to your balls in garbage. This part of your plan to get her back?" More sludge is poured from above.   
Spartacus works on cleaning Sura's binding. Varro and Danica beside him cleaning the last of the sludge off themselves. Spartacus takes a small cup of water, pours it on the binding to wash it. Varro frowns. "You'd waste your ration cleaning a bit of cloth?" Varro asks. "It bears meaning to me."   
The room quiets as Doctore enters with Ashur, who carries a piece of parchment in hand. Doctore pins Spartacus with a hard stare. Spartacus holds it for a moment, then begrudgingly drops his eyes. "Gather. Your master's hand has been at work. The pairings of the Vulcanalia are decided. Excited murmurs ripple through the baths. "Crixus!" The Gaul steps forward. "The unbeaten champion of Capua. You will honour the name of Batiatus by fighting in his primus!" "who do I fight against?" Crixus asks. "A man of skill and dedication. His service to this ludus knows many years, and shall be rewarded. "Gnaeus!"  "Ashur carries the remainder. May the gods be with you!" Doctore turns and exits. The men descend on Ashur and his parchment, shouting to see.    
"One by one, you fucking cunts! Batiatus himself handed me the list, with orders to," Asher shouts. Barca snatches the list from his hands. "Give it here, shit fuck." It quickly makes the rounds, men bellowing with delight or cursing their misfortune at being left out. Spartacus latches onto it, scans it quickly before it's ripped from his hands. "Did you gain position?" Varro asks. Spartacus looks disappointed. "As did you. We are set to fight each other, at the start of the games." he says. "The first match?! The slot of the meek and insubstantial!" Varro exclaims. They continue to speak when Asher joins they all talk until Naya comes over and Asher leaves quickly.   
"I do not fight. What about about my brave Gladiators?" She asks grinning at the last part. "You do not fight?" Spartacus says. When Danica shakes her head he mutters something under his breath. "We fight." Varro says. "Who?" Varro looks at the ground. "Each other." he whispers. "What!" Danica shrieks. "The Roman shit cannot do this." "He can and he has." Asher says stopping in front of them. At this Danica walks away. Spartacus ans Varro follow.   
The sun blazes. Spartacus, Varro Danica and several other men work a short obstacle course. Three spinning posts are set up, each with a wooden sword attached. The men must jump over the first, duck under the second and leap the third. Crixus, Barca, and other top men spar. Ashur lurks. Spartacus jumps, ducks and leaps -- deftly making his way through the obstacles and to the other side. A moment later Varro joins him. The man behind them trips, gets clocked in the face, goes down. Spartacus and Varro take a moment, catching their breath. "I keep pace with the mighty Spartacus. Still place my worth among the dregs?" Varro asks. "I misspoke." Spartacus says.   
Spartacus spots Gnaeus casting his net at a wooden gladiator dummy. Spartacus' eyes narrow in thought, a plan forming. "That look gives me worry." Danica says standing in between Varro and Spartacus. "Words I've heard often from my wife." 

Spartacus calls to Gnaeus with a smile. "Your net's aim is remarkably true, Gnaeus." Gnaeus doesn't respond. The compliment's odd, nothing more."You strike an impressive figure. Battling that little wooden man." Gnaeus pauses, gives Spartacus a good eye-fucking. Varro and Danica tense. Yeah, this isn't good."I long to see you in the arena. Among the men, there you are...with your fearsome net! Like a young, wet girl tossing flower petals." Gnaeus snarls, dropping his net and charging Spartacus. "Fucking cunt!" Spartacus spins out of the way at the last second, sending Gnaeus flying head first into one of the practice dummies. The impact is brutal, an explosion of blood. Gnaeus goes down, out cold. An uproar fills the square. The men hoot and laugh at the spectacle of a man down. Doctore approaches. The men go silent. Doctore glances down at Gnaeus, then at Spartacus. Spartacus acts bewildered. "The sun has made Gnaeus mad. He charged like crazed goat." Spartacus says. "I saw his eyes. They were wild with thirst." Varro adds in. Doctore eyes the three of them. A tense beat. "Barca! Kerza! Tend to Gnaeus."   
The men clean up after practice. Pietros rubs oils onto Barca's imposing frame. Barca glares at Varro Danica and Spartacus. Danica frowns. "I must make a point to stop standing beside you." she says. " Gnaeus is of an unsteady nature. His humour was bound to crack." Spartacus replies. "What like his skull?" Varro asks. 

The reception is in full swing. Much smaller than the Cena Libera, this is more like a dinner party intended to drum up business. The villa has been decorated in all its fineries as the Capuan middle crust mingle amongst themselves. On cue, Doctore marches the Gladiators out at a brisk pace. They spread out in perfect formation, the sound of their sandals a cacophony of strength and power. Spartacus, Varro,Naya, Kerza,  and the rest (except poor Gnaeus). The crowd murmurs their appreciation. Mummers are sent through the room when eyes fall upon Danica. "Look! Touch! Feel the quality of my stock! Place your orders for any of the men you covet! Come! They will not bite! And if they do, a ten percent discount!" The crowd laughs, moving forward to examine the Gladiators up close. Lucretia smiles in appreciation at her husband's salesmanship. He catches the look, his smile broadening. Everything is going according to plan. The guests inspect the Gladiators. Touching their arms, their chests... A knot surrounds Danica. She stands rooted, a mighty oak, indifferent to the pecking birds. Spartacus and Varro stand either side of he ready to attack if needed. 

"Good citizens! You've enjoyed my wine! My food! The aphrodisiac presence of my beautiful wife! Now marvel at the announcing of tomorrow's primus! Crixus, the Champion of Capua, will stride upon the sands to face." WHAM! Spartacus slams into Crixus like a freight train from behind. The two men tumble to the floor. The crowd gasps. "Spartacus!" Doctore shouts. Crixus surges to his feet, but Spartacus' fist connects with his jaw. Blood arcs in slow motion. Spartacus swings again, but Crixus blocks the blow and throws Spartacus to the ground. Ilithyia's eyes sparkle, loving the violence. Crixus pounces on top of Spartacus, smashing him in the face. Excitement seizes the guests, several cheering and clapping. Blood splatters at Ilithyia's feet. Her eyes light up with blood lust, wishing Spartacus ill. Doctore waves the Guards to move in. "No! Let them fight!" Ilithyia calls. The crowd shouts agreement. Batiatus sees an opportunity, holds a hand up to halt the Guards. Lucretia simmers, furious at the disruption. Spartacus recovers, knocking Crixus back. The wrapped item he got from Ashur dislodges, tumbles onto the floor. Crixus quickly retrieves it. Spartacus uses the distraction to pounce, getting Crixus in a choke hold from behind. Batiatus has seen enough. "Enough!" he shouts. The Guards swarm in, pulling the men apart. "I will have your fucking heart!" Crixus yells. "Come and take it then  coward!" Spartacus spits back.   
Crixus bellows, struggling to break free and resume the fight. Batiatus grins at his Guests, spinning the situation to his favour. "See their hatred, burning beyond control! This was merely a taste, to whet your desires! Tomorrow they shall settle their grudge in the arena! Crixus, the undefeated! Spartacus, the dog who defies death! A fight for the ages! Glory to Capua! Glory to Rome!"  Batiatus' speech is like a match to kerosene. The small crowd erupts in enthusiasm.  A bloodied Spartacus smiles, his plan having succeeded. As the Guards pull him away.   
Spartacus waits in full Thraex gear, helmet and sword in hand. Varro appears behind him, bloodied and bruised, having already fought. "They cheer for blood." he says. "And they shall have it. I am glad Danica does not fight." Spartacus says softly. "There may come a day when she will have to fight but until then may the gods bring you fortune, as they did me this morning." Varro says putting a hand on Spartacus' shoulder.  "Sura believed in the gods. And when the Romans took her, not one descended from the heavens to intervene. I shall correct their mistake presently." Spartacus pulls on his helmet. 

The stands are filled with the blood-thirsty. A day's worth of wine and sun has only fuelled the crowd's fervour. The Pulvinus Batiatus mingles with Mercato and Magistrate Calavius, a large man with the commanding air of an untrustworthy politician. The chute gate grinds open and Spartacus trots out onto the sand. A huge moment -- the first time we've seen Spartacus fully geared up in the arena. The crowd roars. "Behold Spartacus! Renowned for his magnificent victory at the munus of Senator Albinius! Where he single handedly slaughtered four of Solonius' gladiators!" More cheers. The Magistrate frowns at the remark. Batiatus waits for the applause to die down, continues. Crixus emerges from the opposite chute, trotting out onto the sands. The roar that greets him is deafening. Far greater than the response to Spartacus. "The marvel before you needs no introduction! You know him by his sword! By his shield! By his glory! Behold Crixus! The Champion of Capua!" The crowd goes insane. Ilithyia strains forward, dazzled by the sight of Crixus. 

Spartacus and Crixus take their positions. They move to the center of the arena to square off. "In honour of the name Batiatus and the sacred Vulcanalia..." Batiatus is interrupted by the ROAR of the crowd, a reaction to Spartacus rushing Crixus like a fucking lunatic. A breach of protocol, and one which catches Crixus off-guard.  Spartacus' sword slices through the air. Crixus barely bends out of the way as Spartacus' sword glances off the broad brim of his helmet. CLANG!!! Sparks fly. Spartacus continues his assault, driving his shield into Crixus' chest. Crixus stumbles, struggling to maintain his footing. The arena buzzes with the possibility of an upset. Spartacus arcs his sword, reflecting the sun's light. Crixus raises his long shield to defend. Spartacus presses his assault. Crixus expertly deflects each blow with his shield. Spartacus charges Crixus, who nimbly sidesteps him like a matador, slamming his shield against Spartacus' helmet for good measure. 

Spartacus is tiring, his shoulders hunched forward, his steps becoming heavier. He charges Crixus who deflects with his shield, sending Spartacus crashing to the ground. Crixus extends his arms wide to the crowd, making a show of it.  Crixus trots toward Spartacus, gaining speed. No more rope- a-dope, time to finish this guy off. He swings his sword furiously. Over and over again. Driving back Spartacus, who is clearly struggling to keep up. Spartacus reacts as Crixus juts his shield forward, but it's a misdirect. With his free hand, Crixus whirls his sword around and slices  Spartacus across the leg. Blood spews. Crixus spins catching Spartacus in the helmet with his shield. 

Spartacus raises his sword, but Crixus knocks it aside with his shield and swings his sword, connecting with Spartacus' helmet. The helmet flies off as Spartacus crashes back, blood arcing in slow motion from his mouth. Varro looks on  through the iron gates of the chute. Watching his friend crumple. Knowing the end is near. Spartacus tries to rise, dazed and bloody. Crixus smashes the sword out of his hand and plants his foot on Spartacus' neck. Spartacus chokes, too dazed to wrest himself free. Crixus raises his sword for the death blow in slow motion. Spartacus' eyes drop to Sura's binding, which has come half undone from under his manica. It flutters gently in the warm breeze, a remembrance of why he fights -- and why he must live. Spartacus raises two fingers to the Pulvinus. The missio, the sign of surrender. A total humiliation for Spartacus, but the only way which he can ever save Sura. The crowd hushes. Crixus turns to the Pulvinus in surprise. 

A bloodied Spartacus stands alone removing his gear, the mirror opposite of the opening scene. He unstraps the greaves from his legs and then pulls off the padded wrapping. During this Doctore appears. Spartacus senses his presence. Doesn't look up, doesn't have to. "His reputation is well earned. My blade could find no weakness." Spartacus says softly. "And yet it was there. At least ten points where you could have seized advantage. You needed but more training." Doctore replies. "I shall train harder then." "No. It is too late for such things."   
With that, Doctore turns and exits. A beat as Spartacus digests just how bad he's fucked himself. Then he quietly releases the straps on his manica, revealing Sura's binding covering his forearm. Spartacus unties it. Holds this reminder of his wife in his hands. Knowing that today's failure has placed him even further from the woman he loves.


	4. The thing in the pit

Spartacus is slammed onto a table by Barca and Ashur. -- Ashur grabs a large clay pot filled with ash and blood. -- Ashur haphazardly smears a handful of the crimson mixture over Spartacus' writhing torso and face as Barca struggles to restrain him. -- Ashur grabs Sura's  binding on Spartacus' wrist, struggles to remove it. Spartacus goes berserk, manages to forearm shiver Ashur, sending the cripple crashing to the stone floor. “Thracian bitch.” Ashur says. Spartacus lunges forward, but Barca grabs his neck, forcing him back onto the table, hard -- he’s going nowhere. Spartacus chokes as Barca’s grip tightens like a vise.   
“Barca release.” Batiatus says. Spartacus sucks in staccato breaths as Batiatus stands over him. Ashur recovers, glaring at Spartacus. “I think it best your wife’s binding remains here. Where you’re going, you may lose it. Along with your arm.” Batiatus say as he offers is hand. Spartacus hesitates, then unties the binding and reluctantly hands it to Batiatus. “Finish preparing him.” Batiatus says. Batiatus exits. As Barca restrains Spartacus, Ashur pulls out another handful of the crimson mixture from the clay jar and slams it into Spartacus’ jaw.   
Batiatus quickly strides down the corridor, Sura’s binding dangling between his fingers. Doctore appears. “A word, dominus?” He asks. “If hastened.” Batiatus replies. “The walls spread rumor of The Pits.” Doctore says. “You find objection to this course?” Batiatus asks. “It is a place of pain and   
suffering, for the sake of pain and suffering. Beasts slaughtering beasts, to die without honor. Your   
father would never have --” Doctore begins but is interrupted by Batiatus. “The decision is made! If an animal cannot be tamed, it must be unleashed.” Batiatus exits. Doctore pauses a moment, his distaste for this course apparent. He turns to go. 

a damp sponge held by Naevia as she dabs at the thirsty skin of Lucretia. “If the rains ever return, I shall soak in a full bath for a week. Perfume.” Lucretia says. Naevia retrieves a bottle of perfume, nearly empty. “Only a few drops remain, Domina.” Naevia replies. “Save them for Jupiter. I’ll douse his altar and pray the scent sparks a deluge.” Lucretia says she is clearly not happy. She takes the emerald necklace and has Naevia attach it. Batiatus hustles in, agitated. “Have you seen my dagger? It eludes me.” He asks. “What purpose requires it?” Lucretia asks. “I’ve divined an additional stream of revenue. Enough to provide us a proper bath.” Batiatus replies. “And this stream... it flows from where?” Lucretia asks again. “The Pits.” Batiatus replies reluctantly. 

Lucretia glowers, not pleased with the answer. Batiatus quickly launches into an explanation as he searches for the dagger. “Crixus remains the single draw of the ludus. All interest of employment for the games falls squarely upon his shoulders. Of the new recruits, Varro is the only man of promise. Spartacus and Kerza prove worthless in the arena. So I fight them both tonight where they   
may yet fill our purse.” “Dispatching the Thracian brings me relief. You descending into The Pits does not. The place stains the name. And threatens the body.” Lucretia replies. Batiatus is still searching for his dagger. “My body will be well protected. Barca looms over it, ready to break   
bone at the slightest provocation.” He continues. Lucretia retrieves Batiatus’ dagger, holds it out to him. “Inform Barca that if you return scathed, I’ll have his cock in a jar.” Lucretia says. “The message will be dutifully delivered. Give Crixus a woman tonight. Motivation to the others that   
success brings decoration in many forms.” Batiatus says as he takes his dagger and begins to leave the room. “I’ll see him well satisfied.” Lucretia replies. 

The punishing sun beats down on the parched earth. Gladiators train, sweat dotting their hardened bodies. Crixus and Varro, intensely sparring, their muscles bulging with each vicious blow. Spartacus enters the square in shackles, led by Barca and Ashur. His brow set, the crimson and ash veneer inviting stares from Gladiators who have lowered their swords to gawk at the walking dead man. “Where do they take him? Varro asks. “The underworld. Where he belongs.” Crixus replies.   
He spits in contempt. Varro tenses, taking in the information. Doctore cracks his whip.“Resume positions!” Doctore barks. The men resume training. Doctore recoils his whip, eyeing Spartacus with stern regret as he’s shoved next to Kerza, also smeared with ash and blood. A tense beat as they   
exchange looks. “Tell me I don’t look like I was shit from a boar’s ass like you.” Kerza says.   
Spartacus ignores the remark. Kerza’s face darkens. “I am not dying in The Pits. I’ll show these fucking cunts my cock was forged from Vulcan’s flames. I WILL FUCK! THEM! ALL!!!” Kerza screams. 

Kerza’s jaw cracking as it collides with a mallet of a fist, sending rivulets of blood through the air , splattering across the faces of the bloodthirsty dregs that make up this motley crowd encircling the death fights. They howl for blood, loving the gratuitous gore. Ixion a gargantuan sadist wearing his last victim’s flayed face as a mask. He stalks a near-dead Kerza in the “ring” of the abandoned blood-stained courtyard of a two-storied insula known as “The Pits”. Kerza screams as Ixion lands a bone-splintering blow, sending him crashing to the ground. Ixion picks up a fallen rusty blade and descends on him. The shouts of the crowd drowning out Kerza’s screams. Corpses of losing fighters hanging from meat hooks, illuminated by the blazing crematory at the periphery. A drooling ogre of a man fucking a carbuncled, androgynous whore from the rear, cheers the fight as he grunts and thrusts. Ugly men and even uglier women in various states of unkemptness, drink, fight, and fuck. Money exchanges grimy hands at a furious rate as the denizens bet on the death match. 

Spartacus is shackled in the cell adjacent to the fighting area. His eyes study the bizarre surroundings. He’s never witnessed fights of this nature in Thrace, nor the arena. These are not men, but animals. And to survive, he must become one. Ashur drifts past, joining Batiatus by the cage door, frowning at the beating Kerza’s taking. Barca looms at his side as promised, his eyes alertly   
scanning for any potential danger. The crowd erupts, drawing Batiatus’ attention to Ixion,   
howling victoriously. He hoists the gore-dripping flayed face of Kerza up to the crowd. Kerza’s limp body lying in a pool of his own blood, head devoid of skin. Ixion stands proud, takes a bite from the facial flesh and spits it into the crowd -- a cannibalistic souvenir for the merciless gawkers.  
Anubis,a huge, unpleasant man with a scarred face and milky eye, steps forward to proclaim the winner. “Ixion! Victor!” Anubis says. The crowd roars. Two brutes appear. One shackles Ixion   
before escorting him out of the ring, while the other removes Kerza by impaling his chest with a meat hook, then dragging the limp body through the crowd. Spartacus watches Kerza’s fate. His eyes burn with determination, readying himself for his first bout. “May the gods fare you better,   
Thracian. For both our sakes.” Batiatus says. Kerza’s body is dragged past. 

“Witness the captive beasts, quenching our thirst with blood!! Set to die in the pits... payment for their offensive births! Let death descend anew! Behold, Myrmex!” Anubis shouts. The crowd roars and cheers as Myrmex, a chiseled Egyptian whose face is covered in tattoos, is led up. He grins at the crowd, eyes blazing with the red mist of blood-lust. “Behold, Spartacus!” Anubis continues.   
Spartacus is led up, his face set in stone. The crowd jeers and hisses, a few pelting him with garbage. Batiatus who is flanked by Barca and Ashur, frowns at the reaction. Spartacus and Myrmex chose their weapons and take up their positions. 

Anubis throws his arms up. The Brutes shove Spartacus and Myrmex into the blood encrusted fighting area. The crowd shouts and cheers, craving blood. Spartacus and Myrmex circle one another, the din all but deafening. Myrmex sadistically smiles, then punctures his tongue with one of the spikes from his Sphairai. His mouth instantly floods with blood, which he promptly spits   
at Spartacus, the blood splattering his face. Spartacus quickly wipes away the blood. Myrmex seizes the distraction, attacking Spartacus and opening a gash across his chest with his spiked gloves. Spartacus counters, on the defensive. Spartacus and Myrmex trade blows. Spartacus is getting   
the worst of it, his blood splattering the crowd the crowd. Batiatus wipes a fleck of blood from his cheek, frowning sourly at the proceedings. The gods seem truly against him. Myrmex lands a painful blow, roars to the crowd. They greet him with cheers. Spartacus shakes the pain from him, his jaw setting in anger and determination. Myrmex attacks. Spartacus is driven back, recovers, unleashes a barrage of savage blows. Blood flies, splashing Anubis, , but Myrmex refuses to go down. He retaliates, driving Spartacus back towards one of the meat hooks hanging from the rafters. Spartacus grabs the hook and slams it up through Myrmex's jaw. Myrmex screams, blood spewing from his mouth as he grabs Spartacus around the throat, strangling him. Spartacus chokes, punches Myrmex in the ribs in an attempt to get him to release. Losing consciousness, Spartacus desperately grabs the hook and rips Myrmex's fucking jaw off in a spray of gore. It flies into the crowd, causing a commotion as the crowd scrambles for the gory souvenir. Myrmex stands dazed, blood spewing from torn arteries as his tongue flops loosely. A frozen moment. Myrmex collapses, dead. Anubis steps forward. “Spartacus! Victor!” he declares. The crowd roars money exchanging hands.  
Spartacus stands bloodied and exhausted, the fight having cost him dearly. Batiatus beams in excitement and relief. Barca laughs in delight over the unexpected victory. “Give him a moment's rest. Then fight him again.” Batiatus says. He moves off to collect his winnings. 

Back at the Ludus the Gladiators are still training late into the night. Danica's unleashing hell on those who are put against her Varro included. Lucretia watching from the balcony actually concerned about the Gladiators decides to intervene. “Danica take rest that’s enough training for the day.” Danica drops her weapons and turns to face Lucretia. “Domina” She says. Then turns to go to her cell. A while later Varro returns to his cell for the night. “You worry for him” Varro says breaking Danica out of her thoughts. “As I would you.” she replies. “Your concern is returned. I mean not to cause offence and forgive me if I am wrong but I think your in love with Spartacus.” Varro says. Danica smiles slightly. “ He can never be mine” Is all Danica says before laying on her bed facing away from Varro. 

Spartacus trudges down the corridor in a haze of exhaustion and pain. A grunting sound echoes from Barca’s cell. Spartacus absently glances in as he passes, spotting Barca fucking Pietros inside. Pietros moans in pleasure, smiling at Spartacus as another thrust sends him into ecstasy. Spartacus continues down the corridor, arriving at the barracks where Varro and a knot of Gladiators lie sprawled across the straw-littered floor. Varro half rises at the sight of Spartacus, glad to see him yet breathing. “You live. I told you he would Varro says. Danica wakes at the commotion to see Spartacus alive. Bruised and battered but alive. She smiles at him and he smiles back. “What of Kerza” One of the other Gladiators asks. “Fallen. Never to rise.” Spartacus replies as he starts to lay down. “ This is where gladiators sleep. Not dogs.” A Gladiator says. “Hold your tongue.” Varro replies. Spartacus exits the cell followed by Varro. Spartacus makes a bed for himself on the landing and lays down he Varro speak for a few minutes before Spartacus falls asleep. Varro goes back to the cell where he finds Danica still awake. “Rest I will be fine.” Danica says before Varro can say anything. 

The Gladiators train under the blazing sun. Sweat courses down their rippling muscles, streaking filth from torsos. Wooden swords clash against battered shields. Spartacus watches from across the square where he sits on the parched earth. Eyes distant and increasingly hollow, hand rubbing his wrist where Sura's binding once resided. Doctore weaves his way through the men, whip ever in hand. “Study the flaws of your opponent. Strike with your mind as well as your sword. Fail to use your wits and risk tumbling after Spartacus into The Pits.” Doctore says. Crixus, Barca, and most of the other men laugh at Spartacus. Varro frowns, feeling for his friend but he looks to Danica to make she doesn’t do something she would later regret. Doctore cracks his whip, the men pause, quieting down. “The man is no base humor, to be laughed at. He is a tale of caution. Ponder over while you fill your bellies. Eat!” Doctore continues. The men and Danica comply, heading towards the Mess Hall. Pietros approaches Spartacus with a small cup of water and a bowl of gruel. “A little porridge, and water. Only a sip. The drought...” Pietros says. Spartacus takes it. “Thank you.” he says. 

Danica And Varro join their friend. They speak awhile before Spartacus is pulled away by Barca. “Rise dog. More death awaits.” He says as Spartacus gets up painfully. Corvus, a scarred, blood-drenched fiend with muscles as hard as petrified wood, connects an elbow to Spartacus’ ash and   
blood smeared jaw. Spartacus, drenched from head to toe with sweat and blood, staggers back, the sword in his hand tumbling from his grasp. Corvus, forearms encased in blood-crusted steel, assaults Spartacus. The beatings are taking a serious toll. Spartacus snarls, countering the assault with a fist to Corvus’ torso, the impact sending shock waves of punishment through the brute’s body. Spartacus hammers. Corvus counters. The two stand toe-to-toe, slugging it out, blood flying. Corvus lands a crushing blow to the mid-section, reopening a gash over Spartacus’ ribs. Spartacus grunts in pain. Corvus surges, tackling him to the ground. His fists rain down, pounding Spartacus’ face into raw meat. Batiatus eyes the action with concern. Barca looms behind his master,   
enjoying the blood along with the screaming crowd -- now considerably larger than the night before... a result of word spread about Spartacus’ victories. 

Spartacus blocks a blow and headbutts Corvus, smashing his nose. Corvus howls. Spartacus kicks him off of him and into the crowd,taking some of the rowdy fucks down with him. A few overzealous fans join in the fun and kick Corvus while he’s down. Corvus rises, tossing the offenders aside as he rushes at Spartacus ,who greets him with bloodied fists. They trade devastating blows, blood flying into the howling crowd. Spartacus takes the brunt of the exchange, on the verge of getting his brains knocked out. Corvus hauls back, launching his fist at   
Spartacus’ face. Spartacus bends out of the way at the last second, grabbing Corvus around the neck from behind. Corvus struggles, the capillaries in his eyes bursting. Tears of blood streak his cheeks. Spartacus roars an animal, subhuman sound of rage. CRACK! Corvus’ neck snaps. The man goes limp, sliding from Spartacus’ grasp, dead before he hits the floor. “Now that’s how you send a shit to the afterlife!” Batiatus cheers. The crowd howls with laughter and cheers. Spartacus turns   
back to where Sura was standing, only to find her gone. He blinks the blood and sweat from his eyes, attempting to regain his senses as two brutes shackle him. Ashur weasels his way through the crowd, passing two drunkards as he goes. He draws up next to Batiatus in excitement. “The odds soar in Spartacus’ favour. They believe he’s unbeatable. A dead man whose soul refuses to leave its body.” He says. “Spartacus has no soul. It resides in the heart of another.” Batiatus says. Spartacus bloody, empty in his victory, is dragged towards Batiatus by one of the Brutes.“Prepare yourself. You fight Mytilus next.” he continues. 

Spartacus scrapes blood and ash off of his oiled skin with shaking hands, wincing with each stroke. The fights have taken a devastating toll on him, both physical and mental. “You look like shit.”   
Spartacus opens his eyes to find Varro has entered. “I've endured worse.” Spartacus replies. “What man could, and still count himself of this world?” Varro asks. “It will end one day. And we will be reunited.” Spartacus says. “It will end one day. And we will be reunited. As gladiators? A welcomed thought.” Varro says as he smiles slightly. “One that keeps me from the grasp of the afterlife.” Spartacus whispers. “Your condition speaks to its encroachment.” Varro says. Varro pulls a clutch of mandrake roots from his wrap. “Mandrake root, acquired from Ashur. Chewed to numb the pain.” he continues. Spartacus eyes it dully, longing for relief. “I can't. The root would dull my   
senses even further. I need what remains if I'm to save you.” Spartacus says to himself. Varro eyes him with uncertainty, not understanding. “Save me from what? Spartacus...?” Varro asks.  
Spartacus blinks, his eyes struggling to focus his reason, only to find Sura is now gone. Spartacus stares at Varro for a moment. He stands, his legs uncertain but determined. “Where id Danica?” He asks. “Where she should be. Sleeping.” Varro replies. “Your offer is well received. Even in the turning away of it.” Spartacus says. He offers Varro a weak yet genuine smile of friendship as he   
painfully exits. Varro watches him go, certain in the knowledge that his friend’s life -- and sanity -- draws quickly to an end. 

Spartacus, body littered with gashes and bruises, slowly trudges through the corridors. The din of the Gladiators laughing, gambling, and fucking strain to pierce his veil of pain, as if again heard from underwater. Everything is distorted, coming in and out of focus. He passes Gnaeus, who sneers at him, face twisted into a grotesque mockery. He passes the barracks, seeing more distorted faces,eyeing him through the bars. Varro rises from where he sits talking with Hamilcar, his face filled with concern at the sight of Spartacus. He holds the mandrake root out through the bars, hoping Spartacus will change his mind. Spartacus glances at it, continues on his way in a fog of agony. The din of the ludus rises, a deafening wave of sound. He reaches the landing to   
the stairs and painfully lowers himself to the floor, back against the wall. A while later he jerks awake blood dripping down his face. One of his wounds has reopened. He wipes at it, stares at the blood, the nightmare still fresh. Danica appears next to him damp cloth in hand. She hands it to him. “Its not much but it will clean the wound.” She says as she sits next to him. “Gratitude.” Spartacus replies. 

“I am to be thrown into the pits again.” Spartacus says. “The Roman fuck.” Danica says. “I worry for you Spartacus. The pits the things they do to men. It drains them physically and it drives them mad. It turns them into someone they are not. The one person they promised they'd never become when they stepped upon the sands of the Ludus. It changes people.” Danica says as she stares off into the distance. “You speak as if you have seen it happen before your eyes.” Spartacus replies. “My brother.” Danica says as she gets up to go. “No. Stay with me please.” Spartacus says looking up at Danica. She smiles at him before sitting back next to him. “I worry for you.” Spartacus says softly. “As I do you” Danica replies. “Forgive me for asking. But your brother what happened?” Spartacus asks. “We were brought here together. Me as a slave him a Gladiator. He was animistic could not be tamed thrown in the pits. Fuck did it mess him up but it won him his freedom from the arena.” Danica says. Spartacus stays quite for a moment before pulling Danica into his side. “Get some sleep.” He says. Danica lays her head on his shoulder and falls asleep almost instantly. Spartacus lays awake a while longer and realizes something he should have a long time ago. 

The next morning Danica wakes to find Spartacus gone. The pits she thinks to herself. Ashur who helps Barca prepare Spartacus for a return to The Pits. Spartacus sits motionless as they apply the blood and ash. Battered. Scared. On the brink of complete madness. “Not so much fight in him now, is there?” Ashur asks. “He saves his fury for The Pits. A place you wouldn’t last a fucking breath.” Barca says. Ashur glares, but is interrupted before he can reply. “Spartacus.” Batiatus says.   
Spartacus glances over with half dead eyes. Batiatus has appeared in the doorway, heavily back lit. Reality mirroring his dream. “You have fought well. The gods may yet reward you.” Batiatus continues. “The gods. They came to me last night. Like they often did with her. In a dream.” Spartacus says. Batiatus studies Spartacus with a frown, waves Ashur and Barca back.

“And what did they show you?” Batiatus asks. Spartacus blinks, grits his teeth, trying to focus. His eyes land on Batiatus, now seeing him clearly. “The truth. Your profit from my blood ends tonight.” Spartacus replies. Batiatus doesn’t care for the sound of that. “Refuse to fight, and I will cease my attempts to find your wife.” Batiatus threatens. Spartacus laughs. There is no mirth in it. Only weariness and pain as the madness creeps back in. “I have to save her. Before the rains come.” Spartacus says. “Give way to your meaning, you mad fuck!” Batiatus snaps. He strikes Spartacus hard across the face, snapping his head to the side. A tense moment as Spartacus slowly   
turns it back around to face Batiatus, his eyes hard and focused again. “The odds remain high in my favor?” Spartacus asks. “Still.” Batiatus replies. “Then bet everything you have against me.” Spartacus replies Ashur glances to Batiatus in surprise. How’s that again? “You would die in The Pits? Willingly, to see my fortune rise?” Batiatus asks more than a little shocked. 

“Yes. If you will hold to wrest my wife from the Syrian with a piece of it.” Spartacus replies.  
Batiatus considers the offer.“And what’s to keep me to this bargain once your blood is spilled?” Batiatus says.”Honor. And the promise of vengeance from the afterlife should you betray it.”The bargain is struck. Make it appear a sincere fight. Finish preparing him.” Ashur and Barca move in to comply. 

Doctore leads Spartacus into the moonlit square. Batiatus stands waiting, a gleaming Gladius gripped tightly in his hand. Spartacus eyes the sword as he stops in front of his master, knowing his fate. And accepting it. A long beat.“My wife believes you are cursed by the gods. I’m inclined to agree.” Batiatus says. “You’ll find no argument.” Spartacus replies. “The rational course would be to end your miserable life. Before it further infects mine.” Batiatus says. Spartacus offers no resistance to the idea. “A promise was made. You would find Sura” he begins before Batiatus interrupts him. “If you died in The Pits. Yet here you stand, alive.” “As do you.” Spartacus replies   
A long beat. Batiatus’ fingers tighten on the sword and he suddenly turns it around, offering it to Spartacus. “The promise is kept. I will continue the search for her.” he says. Spartacus regards the handle, surprised to find Sura’s purple binding tied round it. He takes it, unsure of the meaning.  
“You saved my life. Gods or not, a debt that demands repayment. He’s to rejoin the gladiators for   
training as soon as he’s able.” Batiatus walks off. Doctore graces Spartacus with the faintest of smiles, then follows after Batiatus. Spartacus stands alone, awash in the moonlight. Sword in hand. Hope growing in his heart. A gladiator once more.


	5. Shadow games

Danica throws her arms around Spartacus when she see's him and he tells her and Varro what happened before training for the day starts. Spartacus, reinstated from the Pits, spars with Hamilcar in a rotating drill with the other Gladiators. Bruises and scrapes still mar his flesh, but he trains with focus and determination. Doctore cracks his whip. “Switch!” The Gladiators switch partners. Every man is drenched in sweat, lips cracked from lack of water. The drought has taken its toll. Varro grins, crossing sword and shield with Spartacus. After a few beats, Doctore cracks his whip. “Switch” Danica now stands in front of Spartacus they trade a few blows before Doctore cracks his whip. “Switch” Crixus moves into position opposite Spartacus, attacking. Spartacus tries to keep a steady pace, but Crixus strikes hard, pressing beyond the exercise. Doctore cracks his whip. 

Gnaeus, exhausted and winded, moves to face Spartacus -- but Crixus doesn’t give way. He continues to press, catching Spartacus by surprise. Spartacus stumbles back, barely deflecting the blows. Crixus raises his practice sword to crack Spartacus' skull. “Crixus!” Doctore snaps. “Did you not hear the command?” He continues. “Apologies, Doctore. I hope I did not frighten the rabbit.” Crixus replies. Snickers from the men. Doctore glares. “The games of the Magistrate approach. Listen carefully to my instructions, and every man or woman chosen will see victory in the arena.” he says. 

Gnaeus swoons from the heat in the background, collapses to the ground. “Perhaps not every man.” Doctore says. Pietros rushes over to Gnaeus with a skin of water. “Save rations for men who deserve them. Spartacus! Varro! Remove him to the infirmary.” Spartacus and Varro carry Gnaeus out of the square. Doctore cracks his whip, commanding the rest of the men to continue.

 

Spartacus and Varro dump Gnaeus on an examining table. The Medicus comes over as Spartacus and Varro move away. “We nearly die of thirst and yet water is withheld.” Spartacus spits. Batiatus lacks the coin to purchase more than a few drops. Especially since losing a fortune in the Pits.” Varro replies. Spartacus darkens with guilt. “Because of me.” He says. “You did what you had to. If you had died as promised, Batiatus' purse would be overflowing, but the man himself dead. And no one to find your wife.” Varro replies. “And if he does, how will I pay to wrest her from the Syrian? I have no coin, nor favor in the arena.” Spartacus says sadly. “The gods will provide.” Varro says.   
“I place no value in them.” Spartacus says voice hardened. “Perhaps now's a good time to start.”  
Varro grins as he moves off. Spartacus frowns, following, his body. 

Batiatus is standing in a pool eyes cast upwards praying to the Gods Lucretia hands him a scroll and his face brightens. “From Magistrate Calavius! He's coming here to personally select men for his games!” Batiatus says.”Games to appease the gods and end the drought! The biggest games since Theokoles bested a hundred men in the arena!” Lucretia replies “But why come himself? Unless...” “The Primus.” “To secure the main event at these games... We would be the talk of the Republic.” “He arrives within the hour.” Lucretia replies. “Prepare food. And gather all the water we have.” Batiatus says the slaves. 

Calavius and Solonius step out onto the balcony. Batiatus and Lucretia follow, with Naevia ever in tow. Doctore continues putting the men through their paces beneath the setting sun in the square below. “My titans! Pause, and hear glorious news!” Batiatus commands. Spartacus, Crixus, and the other men look to Batiatus. “Magistrate Titus Calavius has invited our best men to fight in   
his Primus! Crixus! Step forward!” Crixus grins as he proudly steps forward. Of course he was   
asked to fight. For a moment, his eyes meet Naevia's on the balcony above. She quickly looks away.  
“Spartacus! Step forward.” A murmur of surprise ripples through the Gladiators. Crixus glares as Spartacus steps forward, equally surprised. “You have both been chosen. You will fight as one against Theokoles, the Shadow of Death!” Batiatus announces. The colour drains from Danica's face. The men react in shock and excitement. Spartacus' head bows as the weight of the matter settles upon him.

Crixus glares at Spartacus as he eats his evening gruel. Danica frowns as she passes by with Spartacus and Varro. “You two will make a fine couple.” she says. “I would rather fight without him.” Spartacus replies. “And die the same.” Danica whispers. “This Theokoles. The legends cannot be true.” Spartacus says. “He has been cut a thousand times in the arena, and has never fallen. I fear you would have been safer in the Pits.” Varro says. They sit to eat. Spartacus eyes Crixus across the mess hall, considering their chances. “If we were to win, how large would   
be the purse?” Spartacus asks. “Large enough to wrest ten wives from the Syrian.” Varro replies. Danica gets up and slips away without the others noticing. 

The next day Spartacus ans Crixus are being schooled by Doctore on how to stay alive against the shadow. Danica and Varro watch from the side lines. Spartacus slams to the ground, stunned by the blow. Crixus rushes Doctore. Doctore counters with lightning speed, cracking Crixus repeatedly before kicking him to the ground. Ashur, watching with a few other men, stifles a laugh. “You attack as you would a man. Theokoles is beyond flesh. Beyond blood and bone. He is the shadow   
that precedes death. Allow it to fall upon you alone... and you are lost. Rise, and come at me as one!” Doctore commands. Spartacus glances at Crixus. Crixus glares, turns away as he   
rises and attacks.   
Doctore whirls and spins, fluidly countering every attack from Spartacus and Crixus. Crixus and Spartacus move to attack simultaneously, but only succeed in getting in each other's way. Crixus snarls. Doctore uses the distraction to attack, dropping both men to the ground again. “You jostle and trip over the other like fools. You face Theokoles in the Primus! Prove yourselves worthy!”  
Spartacus and Crixus comply, rising to engage Doctore again. Sweat and grime stain Crixus and Spartacus as they battle Doctore. Still unable to work as one, Doctore once again smashes each painfully to the ground. He stares down at them. “Pathetic.” He turns away in disgust. 

Spartacus and Crixus stand before Ilithyia wearing only the subligaria (loincloth), their hands bound in chains. Lucretia hovers nearby. Naevia, Ilithyia's Body Slaves, and two Guards are in the background. Ilithyia eyes Spartacus, a faint, displeased smile tugging at her lips. “Do you know who I am, Thracian?” She asks. Spartacus ignores her. A beat. Spartacus shifts his gaze to face her.  
“I have seen you. With Legatus Glaber.” Spartacus replies. “I am his wife. He is regrettably   
abroad, and will not be able to witness your death against Theokoles.” Ilithyia says. She moves in closer, her hand touching his chest as her lips move to his ear. “But I shall whisper of it to him,   
replaying the moment when we are intwined in our bed.” 

“Apologies.” Ilithyia turns to see Batiatus has entered. “I require the Thracian for a moment.” he says. “Extend it by a lifetime. I am done with him.” Ilithyia says bitterly. Batiatus motions to a Guard, who escorts Spartacus out. Spartacus glances back at Ilithyia, murder flashing in his   
eyes. Batiatus bows slightly, exits. 

Spartacus stands, still in chains. Batiatus pours wine. “You survived being dragged from   
your homeland by Legatus fucking Glaber. You survived execution by four gladiators in the arena. You even survived the horrors of the Pits.” Batiatus says. He sips the wine, considers Spartacus.  
“Can you survive this?” “The training goes poorly.” Spartacus replies. “Through whose fault?” Batiatus asks. “Crixus and I fight at cross purposes.” Spartacus responds. “Then find a way to unite them. You may have saved my life, but yours is yet of little worth in the arena. But to lose Crixus along with you... I fear it would be a blow this ludus will not recover from.” Batiatus says.   
“My concern is only for my wife.” Spartacus whispers. “And her fate is tied to these walls. If they collapse around me, I will be unable to help her from beneath the rubble.” Batiatus replies. “I will not die until she is safe.” Spartacus says. “Prove it so. Fight as one with Crixus, and best Theokoles. Or all is lost.” Batiatus says darkly. 

Crixus strides past in all his glory, glaring at Spartacus as he passes. Varro, finishing his meager morning meal next to Spartacus, frowns. “So it goes well, then.” he says. “The man is no friend to reason.” Spartacus replies. “Then find means to acquaint him. I tend to cry when the people close   
to me pass. It would be an embarrassment for the men to see me weep over your mangled body.” Spartacus smiles slightly. “where is Danica?” He asks. Varro points to the corner where Danica is sat alone. Spartacus goes to get up from his seat. “Save breath she will not speak to anyone. Not even us.” Varro says. Spartacus looks worried. “You worry for her as she does you.” Varro says as he gets up and walks away before Spartacus can say anything. 

Ashur hobbles up as he moves off. “A word of advice, Spartacus.” He says. Spartacus frowns, neither trusting nor caring for the man. “At what cost?” Spartacus replies. “Freely given. Do not think you can come to terms with Crixus. I trusted him once in the arena. With unfortunate result.” Ashur replies. He glances at his crippled leg, the memory of the betrayal fresh. Spartacus glances over to Crixus, where he laughs with Barca. “He would turn his sword against his ally?” Spartacus asks. “Even Barca, if he stood between him and glory. The only way to survive against Theokoles is to consider Crixus equal enemy.” Ashur hobbles away. Spartacus shifts his attention to Crixus, his eyes narrowing. 

The sun hangs low on the horizon. Spartacus hits the ground hard, his face bloodied Crixus liad out near by. “You dishonor me.” Doctore says. Spartacus and Crixus, exhausted and drenched with sweat, painfully rise to their feet. “The Thracian impedes my attack.” Crixus snaps. “I seek to strengthen it.” Spartacus says. “I need no aid.” Crixus snaps again.”No, you need the gods to descend and fight by your side! And even then victory is doubtful.” Doctore says frustrated. Words, falling upon deaf ears.Doctore throws his swords at his feet, sticking them in the sand. “Attend your eyes, then.” He says. Doctore unlatches his breast plate. “Let them drink deep the pain that awaits you.” He lets the breast plate fall to the ground, revealing the horrible scars he carries from his encounter with Theokoles. Spartacus and Crixus take them in with shock. “My failure. Your lesson.” Doctore indicates a mottled scar that snakes from his chest down to his abdomen. “His first cut.” 

Doctore stalks around Spartacus and Crixus. “Dealt when I thought him vulnerable, and pressed my attack unwisely.” Doctore shoots Crixus a withering look. “His next assault came when I fell back to regain position. Spartacus eyes the ugly scar creasing Doctore's back as he continues circling.  
“Yet these wounds are nothing. A game of blood, to amuse the crowd. And when he tires of playing, he will move to part head from your neck.” Doctore glares at Spartacus and Crixus, the scar marring his face a harbinger of what awaits them. “I live only because I survived longer than any man who ever stood against him. Some herald that as a victory in itself. “I am not among them.” Doctore says. “You tell us the Shadow wounds both when he is pressed and when he is given ground.” Spartacus says. “How is he to be defeated?” Crixus asks. “By accomplishing both at once.  
(to Crixus) Press... (to Spartacus) and defend. (to Crixus) Distract...(to Spartacus) and strike. Fight as one. Or die as two.” Doctore retrieves his swords. “Show me the way to honor.” Spartacus glances at Crixus, steeling himself. Crixus grits his teeth and attacks. As Spartacus follows to engage Doctore. 

Crixus is once again scraping the dirt and blood off his flesh. Spartacus sits engaged in the same. They scrape in silence. A long beat passes. “You were right. I do not honor these walls.” Spartacus says. “A fact well known.” Crixus replies. “Has it always been so for you? When you were first brought here, against your will? Your life traded for a few coins?” Spartacus asks. “More than a few.” Crixus replies. “Is that your worth, then?” Spartacus says. They talk a while longer before Crixus is summed away. 

Spartacus sits awake in the barracks, Sura's binding considered between his fingers. “The odds do not favor you.” Someone says. Spartacus glances over to find Varro still not yet asleep. “They seldom do.” He replies. “ I've heard Barca has laid a large amount of coin on you. Well, more   
towards Crixus, but still.” Varro says. “And you?” Spartacus asks. “If I had the means, I would wager all with Barca. You're too fucking stubborn to die.” Varro says smiling a little. Spartacus can't help but chuckle at that. “And yet every man has his end.” Spartacus replies. “I pray to the gods you have not yet reached yours.” Varro whispers. Spartacus spots Danica on the landing where he once slept. “Excuse me.” He says as he gets up and goes to her. 

“I would have words.” Spartacus says softly. Danica looks up at him. “Then speak them.” she says. “Why do you avoid me and Varro? Spartacus asks. “Not Varro but you.” Danica replies. “Why?” “Because I love you and I cant stand the thought of you fighting tomorrow and losing you.” Danica whispers. She goes to get up to leave but Spartacus gently catches her wrist. He pulls her close a kisses her. He pulls back and rest his head against Danica's. “Make love to me please just once is all I ask.” Danica whispers. Spartacus nods and lays her down. He kisses her as he prepares her and slips into her. The landing is filled with the quite gasps and grunts of Danica and Spartacus. When they have both climaxed Spartacus slips out gently. He pulls Danica into his side. “Get some sleep.” Danica says . Spartacus smiles at her before drifting of to sleep. 

The roar of the crowd and the clash of swords rises to a deafening pitch. WHAM! A Gladiator with blood spewing from his mangled face shield as he hits the ground, twitches, lies forever still.   
Naevia and other slaves attend with water and wine, fanning the patricians crowding the Pulvinus. Batiatus and Lucretia sit with Ilithyia. Solonius and several dignitaries converse further down. The Magistrate's wife Domita occupies the center with her excited 14-year-old son Numerius. The   
Magistrate's seat is currently empty. 

Spartacus tightens Sura's binding around his wrist. Crixus stands ready, muscles coiled like steel. Doctore looks out through the gate across the arena, remembering that day years ago when he was set against the Shadow. “The hour of my glory is long past. Yours stands before you. Bring peace to old wounds. And kill that fucking son of a whore.” Doctore says. He moves away from the gate. Crixus and Spartacus step forward. A beat. “Your woman. She's the reason you refuse to die?” “She is and another.” Spartacus replies. Crixus looks out across the arena, his eyes finding Naevia   
in the pulvinus. A beat before he responds to Spartacus, not looking at the man. “Perhaps there is something beyond glory after all.” Crixus says. Spartacus glances at Crixus in surprise. Has common ground just been found? Trumpets sound. Crixus pulls on his polished helmet. Spartacus follows suit. The gate grinds open. Spartacus and Crixus are handed their swords and shields. 

Spartacus trots out into the arena. “Behold, Spartacus! Thraex!” A smattering of cheers but mostly boos. His humiliating defeat against Crixus has not been forgotten. “Joined in battle today by the   
Undefeated Gaul! The Champion of Capua! Behold, Crixus! Murmillo!” Crixus trots out to the roar of the masses. He raises his arms, shouting his usual call to glory: “Capua! Shall we begin?!”   
The mob goes wild. Crixus takes his place, nods to Spartacus. Spartacus returns it. The crowd roars then sliences, excited and terrified as another gate grinds open. Theokoles, the shadow death enters the arena, the sky darkening with clouds as he steps onto the sand. He stands nearly seven feet tall.  
His exposed flesh crisscrossed with the scars of a thousand battles. He brandishes a thick sword in each hand. No helmet. No shield. His invincible body his only armor. Spartacus and Crixus  
trade a look. Holy fuck me. A long, silent beat, finally broken by Theokoles roaring to the crowd. The crowd erupts in thunderous cheers. 

Crixus surges forward, taking the lead. Spartacus fans out to the side, backing him up. Crixus attacks, his sword singing through the air, helmet gleaming in the sun. Theokoles counters ,  
but when Crixus moves back Spartacus surges forward to take up the attack. They continue ebbing and flowing, like Doctore instructed. The crowd gasps as their swords find their mark, opening up fresh wounds across the giant's mangled flesh. The Pulvinusis electric with excitement and surprise.  
Lucretia's eyes fill with sudden hope. As do Naevia's, unnoticed behind her. Spartacus and Crixus circle Theokoles, moving without hesitation or fear. Blood splatters as they land more blows.   
Doctore stands at the gate, jaw tense, eyes blazing at the display. Varro, Danica, Barca, and a handful of other men from the ludus crowd behind him, cheering. All except Ashur, who hangs back, concern creasing his face. Crixus lands a glancing blow, narrowly avoids Theokoles' sword as   
it whistles past his helmet. Spartacus rushes in, distracting Theokoles as Crixus redoubles his   
assault. Swords clash. Blood spews in glorious slow motion as they continue to hack away at the giant. Spartacus lands a devastating blow. Theokoles stumbles back in pain. Crixus lands a second, equally devastating blow. Theokoles momentarily lowers his guard, stunned. Spartacus and Crixus both surge forward, simultaneously slicing Theokoles across the chest. Theokoles falls back , crashing to the sand. Blood splashes up into the air. The giant doesn't move. A beat of stunned silence -- broken by the deafening roar of the crowd.Everyone leaps to their feet. Tears well in Lucretia's eyes. Naevia beams in relief. Batiatus cheers. Solonius looks stricken. 

The men go insane. Doctore, his eyes wide in disbelief. Crixus whips off his helmet. Spartacus follows suit. They share a grin. Crixus throws his arms up in victory. The crowd roars. Crixus motions for Spartacus to do the same. He laughs, reluctantly complies. The crowd roars – then suddenly falls silent. Theokoles stirs behind Spartacus and Crixus. Lighting flashes as he rises,   
bloodied and wounded but far from dead. Batiatus' joy crumbles. Lucretia stiffens in concern, as   
does Naevia behind her. Solonius smiles, assured in the outcome as he looks back to the arena . Theokoles laughs, his voice a deep and terrible thing. He looks out across the arena, roars to the crowd. Doctore's eyes drain of hope. Dread seizes Varro's heart. A tear falls down Danica's cheek. Ashur allows himself a grin in the background. Theokoles grins as he trots towards Spartacus and Crixus. Spartacus shares a concerned look with Crixus. Perhaps the legends are true. The Shadow can truly not be killed. Theokoles slams into them, swords contrailing through the air. Spartacus and Crixus engage the giant, once again working as one, ebbing and flowing in their attack. Theokoles is driven back -- then suddenly counters, driving the two men back, giving them no time to regroup.  
They struggle under the assault, their carefully orchestrated attacks shattering into chaos. Theokoles slams Spartacus into Crixus, sending both men crashing to the ground in a tangled heap. Theokoles   
laughs, grandstanding for the crowd. Crixus hisses at Spartacus. Crixus rises. Spartacus follows, eyes deepening with worry. Whatever common ground they may have shared is quickly slipping away. Crixus rushes Theokoles. Theokoles whirls to met him. Swords flash, Theokoles' blade finding its mark and slicing open Crixus' arm. Blood flies as he staggers back in shock. The crowd   
roars. 

Lucretia sucks air. Batiatus sinks into despair, his ruin at hand. Solonius gloats. Spartacus rushes in to distract Theokoles from the wounded Crixus. They trade thunderous blows. Theokoles whirls,   
slamming his sword into Spartacus' shield with such force the smaller man is sent flying, landing hard some distance away. He spits blood, dazed and nearly unconscious from the blow. Theokoles turns his attention back to Crixus as the Gaul rushes him, mad with rage. Lightning fast blows are exchanged. Crixus sees advantage and rams his sword through the side of Theokoles' gut. The crowd gasps. A frozen moment -- broken by Theokoles snarling and headbutting Crixus. He stumbles back ,blood spurting from his nose as he loses his grip on his sword. Theokoles drops one of his own and with a grunt pulls the sword from his side and attacks Crixus with it. Crixus   
tries to deflect with his shield, but Theokoles slices Crixusfrom stomach to chest, sending blood spraying. Crixus loses his shield as he's spun around from the blow. Theokoles slices Crixus acroos the back sending more blood spewing. Crixus staggers, falls to his knees. The roar of the crowd   
fades as he looks up to where Lucretia stands stricken. But it's Naevia's face he seeks. He finds it, slick with tears. The deafening roar of the crowd surges back up. Theokoles moves in behind Crixus. He raises his sword to decapitate him and – “THEOKOLES!” Theokoles turns. Spartacus has risen, bloodied but determined. Spartacus snarls and charges. Theokoles grins, kicking Crixus to the ground before whirling to meet Spartacus. The two warriors trade bone-shattering blows. Theokoles swings his sword. Spartacus bends out of the way, narrowly avoiding decapitation. He counters, slamming his shield into Theokoles' wounded side. The giant howls, smashing the shield from Spartacus' grasp. 

Spartacus crashes across the sand, landing near Theokoles' sword, abandoned when he pulled Crixus' sword from his side. Spartacus snatches it up and reengages the giant with two swords as he attacks. Steel flashes. Crixus sputters blood, spots his helmet glinting in the sun close by. He struggles to reach it. Spartacus is smashed back. Just as Theokoles raises his sword for the death blow, Crixus latches onto the gleaming helmet, reflecting a ray of sunlight into the giant's eyes. Theokoles grunts,momentarily blinded. Spartacus seizes the distraction and attacks, slicing into Theokoles. Blood splatters. The giant raises his sword to counter but Spartacus swings up hacking off the front of Theokoles' face. The crowd gasps as Theokoles staggers. He works the half of his jaw that remains as he collapses to his knees, blood pouring from his ruined face. Spartacus swings again, Decapitating Theokoles in a Geyser of blood. A bit of the giant's blood splatters across Doctore's face...and for the first time, we see the formidable man smile. Varro, Danica and the men go insane behind him. Ashur glances at the celebrating Barca, realizing he just lost a fortune   
to him on the wager. He is now beyond fucked.   
The giant's body slumps to the sand. Lighting flashes. Thunder booms. The heavens split open as it begins to rain. The crowd roars. Batiatus throws his arms up in celebration, gloating over   
Solonius as the Magistrate bolts to his feet. Ilithyia is post-orgasmic, the sight of gore exploding inside her. Lucretia stands numb. Her eyes, as well as Naevia's, fall on Crixus the rain mixing with the blood caked on his face as he slips into unconsciousness. Spartacus glances at him with concern   
as the Medicus rushes to aid the fallen Gaul. The crowd roars Spartacus' name, drawing his attention to the stands. Spartacus holds his blood-drenched arms up in victory. The crowd roars. The drought is ended. But the legend of Spartacus has just begun.


	6. Delicate Things

Thunder booms. Rain pours from a swirl of dark clouds. “We have seen misfortune. We have   
felt the sting of defeat. The humility of vacant purse and empty stomach.” Batiatus says from the balcony where he is stood with Spartacus , Lucretia and Naevia. Doctore, Danica, Varro and other Gladiators watch from below. “Some believed the House of Batiatus would never reclaim its former   
glory. That we would fade from memory, forsaken by history. But we have proved them wrong. We have proved that the name Batiatus will live long after we have gone to dust and bone. Stand proud before the Bringer of Rain! The Slayer of the Shadow of Death! The new Champion of Capua! Spartacus!” Batiatus proclaims. Batiatus throws Spartacus’ hand up in victory. Varro, Danica and the Gladiators go nuts, chanting his name. Ashur doesn’t join in, the bet he lost to Barca weighing heavy on him. Doctore beams, as does Batiatus. Lucretia musters a weak smile, not liking Spartacus being anointed with Crixus’ title of Champion of Capua. 

“Spartacus! A titan, his victory eclipsing all others! Quenching our thirst! Fulfilling our hopes and   
dreams! Behold the man, as he becomes legend!” Batiatus continues. Batiatus and Spartacus walk through the villa Lucretia not far behind. “Fortunate then the gods feel otherwise. They shower him with more than rain and accolades...” Batiatus says. He produces a message scroll from his robes.  
“They bless him with news to lift heart higher than the clouds.” Spartacus stiffens with impossible hope. “Sura...?” he asks. “Found! The dark corners of Syria no match for the bright torch of my discovery!” Batiatus replies. “Where is she? Is she well? When can   
I --” Spartacus begins. “Peace! All is revealed when a mouth closes! The Syrian Glaber spoke of sold her to a merchant, the sea his mistress. He has recently docked upon the shores of Neapolis.” Batiatus says. Spartacus is overwhelmed with surprise and relief. “On Roman soil?” Spartacus asks. “Your wife among his slaves. Two days ride from where you stand, barring incident.” Batiatus replies. “When do we leave?” “Is it wise to allow such a thing?” Lucretia asks. Batiatus tells Spartacus she is on her way and he is lead back to the ludus. He is shown to his own cell. 

Varro and Danica are standing by the edge of cliff enjoying each others company. Spartacus joins them and Danica excuses herself. “She has heard then.” Spartacus says. “She's doesn’t know how to feel. She told me what happened, told me what she admitted with the Gods as witness.” Varro says. “I never meant to hurt to her.” Spartacus says softly almost a whisper. He and Varro talk a while longer and Spartacus tells him of his escape plan. “You only break heart more.” Varro says as he walks away. 

Alive with the hustle and flow of commerce despite the drizzle. A merchant moves past with a push cart, passing a small knot of gawkers outside of an armoury stall. Spartacus stands resplendent in a new breastplate, grieves, and forearm guards, a gleaming sword gripped in each hand. Batiatus takes him in with a smile, Doctore close by. Ashur lurks further back. They go back to the Ludus. 

Wine and women are on tap at Spartacus' request. Doctore kneels in front of a small altar with Religiousrelics on them. He’s deep in prayer. The sounds from the party are faint. Spartacus stands in the doorway, regret filling his eyes for what he’s about to do. Doctore pauses, sensing Spartacus.  
“You smell of wine.” He says. “I bring cups, full of celebration.” Spartacus replies. Doctore stands, takes the dosed cup with a smile. Spartacus forces one in response. “I honor your victory. With prayer.” Doctore says. He sets the cup down near his shrine. Spartacus eyes it tensely. “Your instruction made possible reunion with my wife. I would raise cups in gratitude.” Spartacus replies. “The sentiment is well received. But wine has not passed my lips for many years.” Doctore says.   
“Your gods forbid it?” Spartacus asks. “No. It is a matter of discipline.” Doctore replies. “Sura always cautioned me towards the same.” Spartacus says laughing a little. They speak a while longer Spartacus feeling more regretful as the conversation goes on. Doctore takes the cup and drinks from it. He slumps to the ground. Out cold. The empty cup falls from his limp hand. 

Spartacus heads away from Doctores cell. He passes two Gladiators engaged in a threesome with a half naked whore. Spartacus passes Gladiators and Guards as they drink, fuck, and gamble. Pietros drinks and laughs, waiting for Barca to return with news of freedom. A half-drunk Varro sits against a training dummy. He locks eyes with Spartacus, questioning. Spartacus turns away as he heads for his cell. Sura’s binding, gripped in Spartacus’ hand. Spartacus standing in the doorway of his cell,   
looking out across the training square. The life he will soon leave behind. He closes his cell door turning his back on everyone. 

 

Spartacus stands at the edge of the cliff, Sura’s binding in his hand. Varro joins him, severely hung over. “Jupiter’s cock, my head. I can barely stand for want of vomit.” He says. “You are in large company.” Spartacus replies. Varro casts an eye across the square. Marcellus is heading out with his prostitutes. A few Gladiators are passed out here and there. And the Guards aren’t at their usual posts. Varro grunts. “No one in condition to halt a man of purpose.” Varro says. “Such by design.” Spartacus relplies. “Doctore is usually up before the sun, whip in hand. Will he ever rise again?” Varro asks. “He will. But not for many hours.” Spartacus replies. “Your chances improve, then.” Varro says. “To the point of certainty.” Spartacus says with a hint of confidence in his voice. “Nothing is ever so. Even if you ride beyond the gates, the guards will pursue.” Varro warns. “They will be commanded against such action.” Spartacus replies. “You really expect them to obey you?” Varro says laughing. “No. I expect them to obey their master.” Spartacus says. Danica appears by Spartacus. “I wish you all the luck of the Gods.” she says. 

They turn startled to see Batiatus on the balcony. Smiling broadly at them. “ Your wife’s cart appears upon the road! I will join you presently!” he says. Batiatus turns and enters the Villa. Varro remembers to breathe. “I urge you to reconsider one last time.” Varro says. “Sura will be free. In this life, or the one after, with her husband by her side.” Spartacus says. “May the gods see you both upon the plains of Thrace.” Varro says. They grip forearms in a manly goodbye. Spartacus and Danica hug before Spartacus heads for his cell. 

Spartacus kneels, the purple binding in his hand as he silently prepares himself for the escape to come. He is now wearing the Dimachaerus armor Batiatus purchased for him. Greaves, forearm guards, and the breastplate. From outside, he hears the sounds of a cart moving into the square and the gate closing. He quickly ties the purple binding around his arm and picks up the Thracian knife . He slips it into his forearm guard, concealing it. He steels himself. Time to save Sura or die trying. He pushes the door to his cell open. 

Spartacus steps onto the sand, eyes sweeping the square. The rain has paused. The sun breaks through the parting clouds, illuminating a stand by the gate where a small covered slave cart has just arrived. Batiatus his back to Spartacus, speaks with the driver, blocking our view of him. Lucretia stands nearby with Naevia. A few guards stand sentry by the gate. In their hung-over state, they   
will be no match for Spartacus. Gnaeus leans against a post, looking ill. Ashur hobbles up to   
witness the proceedings. Varro and Danica watche nervously from the Mess Hall. Varro catches sight of something, tenses. His eyes flick to Spartacus, subtly alerting him to Doctore who is just coming out from the ludus. The big man does not look well -- or very happy as his suspicious eyes fall on Spartacus who tightens his jaw at the unexpected sight. He turns his attention back to Batiatus, his pace quickening to reach the man. 

Doctore steps out onto the sand, moving to meet him, but Varro “accidentally” steps into his path, slowing him down. Doctore shoves him out of the way, but the distraction served its purpose. Spartacus reaches Batiatus, his hand slipping to his forearm guard to retrieve the Thracian knife. But before he can pull it out Batiatus turns, revealing the driver soaked in blood behind him. Something is terribly wrong. Spartacus catches snippets of the driver’s conversation with Batiatus, reaching him as if from underwater. “Attacked on the road... they came out of nowhere.” the driver says. Spartacus’ hand drops from the hidden knife. He rushes past Batiatus to the rear of the cart  
where several dead slaves guards lie inside. Spartacus’ heart seizes as his eyes fall on a bloodied Sura, barely clinging to life, her throat cut. Spartacus cradles her in his arms, tears spilling down his cheeks. She reaches up and touches his cheek. Unable to speak his name. She smiles at the closeness of him as the life drains from her eyes. Her hand falls away, leaving Spartacus' cheek smeared with blood. Batiatus turns away with Lucretia. A faint smile creases his lips. “My word is kept. They are reunited.” He says. Lucretia eyes him in surprise as she realizes he never intended for Sura to arrive at the ludus alive. A smile of her own builds as they disappear back into the ludus. 

Spartacus cradles Sura’s lifeless body in his arms. Dark clouds close the sky above, blotting out the sun and plunging us into darkness.


	7. Great and Unfortunate Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long since I last updated... life got in the way

A hand gently brushes a stray lock of hair from Sura’s lifeless face. Spartacus is grief stricken as he prepares Sura’s body for the pyre. He pulls out the purple binding, kisses it, then places it in her hands folded across her chest. He pulls a white shroud over her body. Spartacus carries Sura’s shrouded body towards a pyre in the center of the square. Varro stands beside it with a torch Danica at his side. Doctore and the Gladiators ring the square. Batiatus, Lucretia, and Naevia watch from the balcony. Spartacus gently places Sura’s body onto the pyre. Varro solemnly hands him the torch. Spartacus gazes at his wife for one last anguished moment. He lights the pyre. Doctore stands stoically at the edge of the square. Despite his sympathy, he has not forgotten Spartacus’ betrayal of   
drugging his wine. Pietros stares sadly at the flames. His heart heavy with loss now that Barca is gone. 

Batiatus and Lucretia gaze down from the balcony. Lucretia glances at her husband, privy to the secret that Sura’s blood stains his hands. But his attention never strays from the pyre, his eyes   
unreadable as the light from the flames plays across his face. Spartacus his eyes full of tears. His wife, his reason for living – gone. 

Spartacus is in the baths washing his hands of his wives blood when Batiatus enters. “The heart weighs heavy.” he says. Spartacus looks up to find Batiatus has entered. “So much hope in reunion. To come to such bitter end...” he continues. “How is it so?” Spartacus asks. “The fault lies with me.” Batiatus says softly. Spartacus stares at him in surprise. But instead of confessing, Batiatus spins. “The road traveled from Neapolis is known to be treacherous. I should have doubled the guards. Tripled them. I should have delayed granting Barca his freedom and sent him along as well. I pray the gods forgive my error.” Batiatus says. “No.” Anger flares in Spartacus’ eyes. Batiatus tenses -- but Spartacus turns away. “There is nothing for you to pray for. You kept your word. The fault lies with the men who took her life. And with Claudius Glaber, who condemned her to slavery.” Spartacus says. “There is nothing to be done to change what has passed. We must look towards the future. You are the Bringer of Rain. The Slayer of Death. Together we will etch the   
name Spartacus into the pillars of history.” Batiatus replies. “Spartacus. That is not what she   
called me. It is not my name.” Spartacus says softly. “It is now.” Batiatus says. He turns and exits. Spartacus sits by the bath, empty and truly alone. 

Spartacus sits in his cell, Numerius’ Thracian knife in his hand. A beat as he numbly considers the blade. “That is unwise.” a voice says. Spartacus looks up to find Varro in the doorway. “If the guards were to see you with it.” He continues. “What could they do to me, that hasn’t already been done?” Spartacus asks. Varro has no response. “I never should have left her.” he continues. “You did not leave her. She was taken from you.” Varro says. “Before Glaber and the Romans. Before I went to war. She asked me not to go. Instead I prattled on about blood and honor.” Spartacus says. “You did what you thought was right. To protect her.” Varro says. Spartacus barely hears him, lost in his own grief. “You should toss that over the cliff. Best to be done with such thoughts.” He continues.   
A long beat. Spartacus doesn’t look up. “I never should have left her.” Spartacus repeats softly. There’s nothing Varro can say. 

Spartacus stands at the cliff, looking out across the hills with heavy heart. Behind him the men assemble for the day’s training. Varro eyes Spartacus from across the square, deeply affected by   
his friend’s loss. Ashur limps past. “Ashur? A word.” he says. “Couple it with coin and make it a   
sentence.” Ashur says. “I would see a message delivered to my wife.” Varro replies. Ashur glances at Spartacus. “The Thracian’s loss stirs you to letters. Ten sesterci will see it placed in her hands.” Ashur says. “Ten?” Varro asks. “Five would also see it along. Eventually.” Ashur replies. Varro frowns in acceptance. Across the square, Pietros hustles up to Spartacus with twin practice swords.   
“Your swords for practice, Champion.” he says. Spartacus takes them, pauses as he sees Pietros now sports a bruised cheek and a busted lip. Pietros looks away in shame. Doctore breaks the moment with a crack of his whip. “The day’s training begins. Pair up!” Doctore shouts. Pietros hustles off the sand as men move to comply. Varro heads for Spartacus. “Spartacus! I am your man. Sword and shield!” Doctore says. 

The men register that with interest. Varro shoots Spartacus a worried look as he pairs up with Danica. Pietros hands Doctore a practice sword and shield. Doctore locks eyes with Spartacus as he moves into position. “Your wife’s passing. It was an unfortunate thing.” Doctore says. Spartacus nods, too filled with the grief of it to respond. “As was your plan for escape.” Doctore attacks, the brutality of the assault driving Spartacus back. Varro, Danica and the men can’t help but glance over   
during their own sparring. Spartacus recovers. The two men circle each other, eyes burning, voices harsh whispers. “I have not tasted wine for many years. Yet a single cup would not rob me of my senses.” he continues. “The choice was to see you sleep... Or never awaken.” Spartacus replies.   
Doctore attacks. Blows are traded, each man drawing blood. They part, circling. Doctore wipes blood from his lip. “Your victory over Theokoles... The peace it brought my heart... It is the only reason Batiatus does not know of your treachery. Champion or no, you would be crucified.” Doctore says. “Then part lips and see it done!” Spartacus snaps. Spartacus attacks, rage flashing across his anguished face. The two men exchange thunderous blows. They end up in a stalemate, their swords both raised to crack each other's skull. A frozen beat. “Next time you seek escape... You had best kill me.” Doctore says. He turns his back on Spartacus and walks away. Spartacus' rage draining away, replaced by crushing grief... and regret that he was forced to betray Doctore. 

Gnaeus laughs at a table with Rhaskos, Hamilcar, and a knot of other sweaty men. Spartacus sits alone at another table, absently eating his midday meal. Varro and Danica join him, eyeing   
Doctore who passes from the hall. “Doctore, then?” Varro asks softly. “He knows.” Spartacus asks.   
“And here you sit, yet alive.” Danica says. “Yet.” Spartacus replies. Gnaeus brays, pulling Pietros onto his lap as he passes with the water jug, causes him to spill it. Pietros squirms, making Gnaeus laugh even harder. “Pietros. Bring more water.” he continues. The laughter dies out. Gnaeus stares at Spartacus, a “fuck you” glinting in his eye. “Now.” Spartacus snaps. Gnaeus hesitates, releases the boy with a sneer. Pietros exits. Spartacus goes back to his meal, eating without thought or enjoyment.   
“Fucking pig. The way he paws at the boy.” Varro says. “The fault lies with Barca. For leaving him.” Danica says. Varro’s attention is pulled away by Ashur limping up. “Is it delivered?” he asks.   
“As promised.” Ashur replies. Spartacus glances at Varro. Varro responds delicately, knowing the subject may be painful considering Spartacus’ recent loss. “A letter. To my wife.” Varro says. “Long overdue.” Spartacus says softly. “Do you bring reply?” Varro asks. “She did not favor me with one.” Ashur replies. Varro can’t conceal his disappointment. “She insisted on bringing you message herself.” he continues. Ashur indicates towards the front gate. Varro’s wife Aurelia, a young beauty in her early 20s, stands nervously with a Guard. In her arms is Varro’s 2-year-old son Janus. Varro rushes to them, kissing his wife and swinging his son up into his arms. “A tender moment. My heart erupts with joy.” Ashur says. He hobbles off, not at all touched. Spartacus takes in the reunion, eyes filling with sadness for the family he will never have. He rises to leave. Danica follows him. 

Spartacus sits with Varro, whose mood is considerably darker after Aurelia’s news (which he has not told Spartacus). Rhaskos and several others gamble on the floor in the corner. “You are a fool to refuse Batiatus.” Varro says. “The man makes unreasonable demands.” Spartacus replies. “He is your master. His demands your duty, reasonable or otherwise.” The blonde haired gladiator says. “I will not be made to slaughter my countrymen.” Spartacus spits. “Countrymen in dress only. You share no kinship with these prisoners. They are murderers. Rapists. Their death well deserved.” Varro says. “Then let another man’s blade grant it.” The dark haired man says. Varro stops. He’s in no mood for Spartacus’ hard-headedness. “You act as if you have free will in the matter. You are a gladiator.” He says anger clear in his voice. “I am a Thracian.” Spartacus snaps. “You are a slave. To cling to a life beyond these walls is to see your heart parted from your chest. You above all others should know this.” Varro says, The pain of that flickers across Spartacus’ eyes. Varro instantly regrets the statement. “I do not think before I speak. I will remove myself to less deserving company.” he continues. Varro turns away to join the gamblers. 

Spartacus moves down the corridor, a ghost in his own body. He passes Pietros moving in the opposite direction, head down. Spartacus glances at him, pauses. “Pietros.” he says softly. The boy turns back, revealing purple and black bruises that tattoo the right side of his face, his eye swollen   
shut. It’s a jarring sight. Spartacus darkens. “Gnaeus’ hand?” Spartacus continues. Pietros averts his eyes, ashamed. “I shall have a word.” Spartacus says. “To what end? Will it see Barca’s return? Will it see me in his arms, free, as he promised?” Pietros asks. “He promised you freedom?” Spartacus asks. “He promised many things. Yet his swift departure proves each false.” Pietros replies.   
Spartacus’ guilt for having left Sura still fresh, he speaks more for himself than for Barca. “Fate often takes a man far from his heart. To his regret.” Spartacus says softly. “Felt more keenly by the one left behind.” Pietros moves off, broken and empty. Spartacus watches him go, lost in his own thoughts of regret. He turns away.

Spartacus joins Varro in the mess hall. His eyes scanning for Danica. Spartacus eats quickly before getting up from the table wordless and going to find Danica. He finds her sitting on the landing. Spartacus sits next to her pulling her into his side a familiar gesture. They stay like that for a few moments before Danica sits up. She looks Spartacus in the eyes. “Let go.” she whispers. Spartacus breaks down and Danica pulls him into her arms whispering sweet nothings into his ear. After a while he calms down and pulls Danica into a kiss before getting up and walking away. 

Spartacus walks into Varro. They talk before Spartacus notices a number of pigeons. He is suddenly full of a bad feeling. He and Varro make their way to Pietros cell. A few more PIGEONS scamper out of the way as Spartacus moves through the corridor with grim purpose. Varro follows. Spartacus reaches Barca’s cell where even more birds have congregated. Spartacus freezes at the entrance to the cell. Pietros hangs lifeless from a beam in the ceiling. Pigeons flutter. Varro comes up behind Spartacus, frowns at the sight. “He has freed himself.” Varro whispers. Spartacus’ eyes fill with rage. He turns, storming off towards the training square. Varro hustles after him.  
Gnaeus spars with Rhaskos. He knocks Rhaskos to the ground, the prongs of his practice trident pointed at Rhaskos’ face. “Gnaeus!” Gnaeus turns just as Spartacus slams into him. Time slows down as the two smash to the ground. Spartacus unleashes on the stunned Gnaeus, his fists raining down.  
The men laugh and cheer, delighted by the unexpected violence. Varro, having followed Spartacus, frowns nervously. Gnaeus shoves Spartacus off and scrambles to his feet. Spartacus attacks, his eyes wild with rage. As the two men trade vicious blows blood splatters. Spartacus drives Gnaeus back coming dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. He rears back to finish him off. The crack of a whip stops him. “Enough!” Doctore strides up, coiling his whip. The square goes quiet. Doctore’s blazing eyes fall on the two offenders. “What is this foolishness?” He asks. “Pietros. The boy has taken his own life.” Spartacus replies. Doctore frowns at the news. Gnaeus appears to take the news   
hard. “He will be missed. (a fuck you to Spartacus) Especially his lips around my cock.” Gnaeus smirks. The world goes red behind Spartacus with rage. He swings with all his might, launching a fist at Gnaeus. It connects with Gnaeus’ jaw, lifting the man off his feet and sending him sailing over the cliff to the jagged rocks below. Stunned silence. Doctore glares at Spartacus. Spartacus is marched off to Batiatus. 

Spartacus stands with Numerius’ Thracian dagger in his hand. He considers the blade, his face consumed by grief. He squeezes his eyes shut against it, only to be met with flashes of Sura from their first encounter. Happy. Flush with the promise of love. Her radiant smile now a dagger in his chest. Spartacus drops to his knees, overcome by the memory, tears streaming down his face. He clutches the knife as if preparing to take his own life. 

Batiatus agrees to let Spartacus fight the Thracians on his own on the condition he give in and let the Thracian inside him die with the last man he kills. Spartacus agrees and the next day he sets out to do his task an keep promise made. His faith in the Gods restored. Batiatus grins Spartacus is now well and truly his.


	8. Mark of the brotherhood

Six men stand shackled before the gathered crowd. All are muscular, hard looking brutes. Plaques dangle from their necks, detailing their names and nationalities. Off to the side are a cluster of shackled female slaves, breasts exposed. Batiatus approachs with Doctore ans Ashur in tow. “Fortune favors us! A fine selection, and enough coin to have our pick.” Batiatus says. “Your competitor approaches.” Ashur nods towards Solonius making his way through the crowd. “You give the man credit beyond his position.” Batiatus whispers. He turns to face Solonius. “Solonius! My heart brims with joy! I had hoped to see you here, buying up more men for Spartacus to   
slaughter!” Batiatus says grinning. The Crowd laughs. Solonius steps close to Batiatus, bowing   
slightly. 

Batiatus moves closer to the auction with Doctore and Ashur. Solonius glares after them, his hatred for Batiatus expanding exponentially. “The Gaul Segovax demands expense. And perhaps the two German brothers, Duro and Agron.” Doctore says. “The others?” Batiatus asks. “Of little worth.” Doctore replies. The slave trader, a seedy peddler of human flesh, steps forward to address the crowd. Batiatus and Solonius try to outbid each other Batiatus winning. 

The six new recruits are led in by gaurds, loincloths serving as their lone covering. The Gladatiors,   
shouting and jeering at the men, except for Spartacus, standing silent as he coolly observes the fresh meat being lined up in the training square. Danica watches from the shadows. Crixus slyly falls in behind Spartacus, having just returned from Lucretia’s bedchamber. 

Doctore enters the square, whip in hand. The Gladiators respectfully quiet. Doctore surveys the Recruits with blazing contempt as he launches into his commencement speech. “What is beneath your feet?” He barks. The men eye the sand in confusion, unsure how to reply. Duro finally responds. “Sand?” The Gladiators roar. Doctore frowns in disgust. Agron, Duro’s brother, hisses to him. “Fucking idiot.” Doctore cracks his whip, silencing the laughter. “Spartacus! What is beneath your feet?” he shouts. Spartacus steps forward. His words are delivered from a new place of belief.  
“Sacred ground, Doctore! Watered with tears of blood!” Spartacus replies. Crixus seethes. Not being on top means it’s no longer his privilege to answer. “Your tears. Your blood. Your pathetic lives, forged into something of worth..” Doctore says. Varro slides up next to Ashur. “Five denarii on the fool who answered. To survive and bear our mark.” He says. “Turn your eyes from your gods and fix them upon me. Listen. Learn. And perhaps, live. As gladiators. Now, attend your master!” Doctore continues. “Five. On the fool.” Ashur replies. 

Spartacus and Varro sit at a table with bowls of food. Crixus and the other Gladiators fill up the remaining tables. Varro regards the Recruits as they finish sparring in the training square under Doctore’s tutelage. Danica joins her friends. “Shit baking in the sun. Seems only yesterday we were of a similar position.” Varro says. Spartacus glances at the Recruits. “Much has changed.” Spartacus replies. Danica remains silent. Varro’s thoughts fall to his wife and her surprising pregnancy. “Much. You became the fucking Champion of Capua. Your myth to echo for a thousand years. And I....” Varro begins. “Became a friend.” Spartacus finishes. An uncomfortable beat, broken by Rhaskos calling from the far corner. He shakes a pair of dice in his hand. “Varro! The dice call your name!”

“And Varro answers.” The blonde replies. Varro stands to leave. Spartacus shoots him a look.  
“You continue to gamble.” Spartacus says. “A few coins to pass the time. Nothing to concern yourself with. Friend.” Varro says walking off. Spartacus watches Varro move off, not caring for the   
response. Danica brushs her fingers against Spartacus' for comfort. He smiles at her and just enjoys looking at her for a few moment's. “What?” She asks blushing. Spartacus only smiles at her again running his fingers down her arm. Their moment is broken when Crixus shoves a recruit back causeing him to crash into a table. 

“You fucking wait until gladiators have filled their bellies. If there is any left...” The Gladiators laugh as Crixus ladles huge amounts of stew from the pot into his bowl. Spartacus and Danica approch. “Crixus.” Spartacus says the other man darkens. “Let them eat.” he continues. “They must embrace pain and suffering to become gladiators. This is how it is done.” Crixus says. “Not by you. Let them eat.” Danica replies backing up Spartacus not that he needs it. A tense beat. Crixus tosses his bowl into the pot in disgust. 

'Spartacus the Kind and Gentle, offering hugs and warm kisses. And Danica the lost puppy who will always come second.” Crixus smirks. Danica tenses. Spartacus brushes his hand against hers to calm her. “Do not mistake me, Crixus. I give no shit about these men. But you are no longer the Champion of Capua. You do not take lead here. You follow.”The mess hall has gone quiet. Ashur chews on a piece of bread, clocking the confrontation with interest. A tense beat. “The man who follows is forever at your back. Something to consider, Champion.” Crixus says. He moves off, his hatred of Spartacus all consuming. Segovax thanks Spartacus and Danica. “Men should not die with empty stomachs.” Spartacus says. He truly doesn’t care about Segovax or the other men. 

Ashur moves down the corridor with half naked women and guards. Giving each man who choses and has the coin a woman. Spartacus returning from a bath moves down the corridor the sounds of the other Gladiators fucking echoing off the walls. He slows as he passes Varro's cell looking in to see him another woman. Varro looks away guilty and thrusts harder. He continues to his cell discusted. Where he finds Danica.

The Gladiators and exhausted Recruits continue to spar. Doctore strides among them. “To step upon the sands as a gladiator is the highest station a slave can pray for. Prove yourselves. Earn the mark of the brotherhood. And fight with honor” He glares at Spartacus who ignores him and continues to train with Danica and Segovax. Spartacus and Danica point out his flaws. Crixus comes over and he and Spartacus exchange words before Crixus is given a sword and sheild and the go ahead to give a demonstration. Crixus attacks with fierce determination. Spartacus is surprised by the fluidity of the assault. It’s as if Crixus had never been injured. Spartacus deflects and defends, not attempting to strike back. Instead he’s letting Crixus overexert himself, much like Crixus did to him in the arena. Crixus grunts from the effort, sweat springing from his brow. Spartacus suddenly counters reversing the attack. Crixus is driven back under the assault of Spartacus’ twin swords. Crixus swings his sword. Spartacus bends, the blade contrailing the air an inch from his upturned face. He answers the attack, brutally sending Crixus to the sand. 

To prove a point, Spartacus calls out Crixus’ missteps. “He attacks boldly to hasten victory. Counter to proper training.” Crixus brims with anger, surges forward. Spartacus counters, sending him toppling once more to the sand. “Defeat is delivered not only by the sword, but also the crowd. Fall from their grace, and you may never rise to former glories.” Spartacus continues. Crixus grunts in pain as he rises. Blood seeps from his stomach wound, having partially reopened. “A true gladiator is taught to embrace pain and suffering. To fight until life flees from his worthless body.” Crixus attacks, eyes wild with rage. Spartacus delivers a lightning quick combination. Crixus’ sword and shield tumble from his grasp as he smashes to the sand, dazed, bloodied, and humiliated. “Learn from this man. Or share his fate.” The Thracian says. Spartacus rears back with one of his swords, intent on bashing Crixus’ skull in. “Spartacus.” Batiatus says from the balcony. Spartacus pauses, glancing up at Batiatus.“Return to training.” “Dominus.” Spartacus bows slightly, turning his back on Crixus as he rejoins the Gladiators and Recruits. Crixus spits out a mouthful of blood, tries his best to stand, but his aggravated wounds are too much. He glances up to the balconyBatiatus holds his gaze for a moment, then turns away, exiting into the villa. The crestfallen look on Lucretia’s   
face says it all: Crixus has just doomed himself. Lucretia reluctantly joins Batiatus inside. Naevia shares a final, pained look with Crixus before following.

Spartacus is attacked that night and saved by Crixus so Batiatus decides he is not to be sold on.


	9. Whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so short but theres a bit part for Danica and Spartacus coming up in the next chapter.

Spartacus and Varro are sparring. Spartacus is a thing of physical perfection, his two practice swords slicing the air with balletic malevolence. Varro counters, brandishing sword and shield,   
looking for an opening. He finds one and charges, but Spartacus easily deflects with one sword, smacking Varro across the midsection with the other. Varro grunts, shaking it off. Spartacus circles   
him. “You lower your guard after each assault.” he says. “I shall see it raised then...” The blonde replies. Varro rushes, raining blows at Spartacus. Spartacus counters, each stroke sure and swift. Varro thrusts his shield out to defend. Spartacus quickly rolls off it, using his momentum to spin behind Varro and bring his sword up around his throat. He growls in his ear.

“Your head is mine. How shall I mount it?” Varro chuckles in defeat as he pushes the sword away.  
“You move well today.” He says. “You do not. What distracts you? Spartacus asks. Varro’s mood deflates. “I had Ashur send letter to Aurelia. More than a week past now, and no reply.” He replies.   
“You expect different? A woman seldom rushes back to the husband who calls her whore.” The Thracian says. “I said no such thing.Not in words. The letter was contrite. I admitted I reacted poorly to the news of her being with child.” Varro says. “And now she makes you wait. The way   
women punish us for being fools.” Spartacus replies. He gears up for another round. “Strike it from your mind. Or find your brains upon the sand...” Spartacus attacks, hammering Varro. They battle like fucking gods.   
Swords clash as the day’s training begins. Spartacus and Varro exchange blows, Danica sat on the side lines given a moments rest. Varro pauses, catching sight of Crixus as he strides out into the square, looking like he owns the fucking place. The other men pause to watch his triumphant return.  
The Gladiators spar and work various training stations. Crixus, intent on proving that he’s in full form, viciously presses Duro. Duro gets cracked, stumbles back, fighting to catch his breath. “This isn’t... the arena...” he says. “The world is my arena, pup.” Crixus replies. He charges, his sword a blur. Duro struggling to deflect them, fails. Crixus sends him crashing to the sand, dazed and spitting blood. Crixus laughs, turning to Doctore. “Send me a man to fight, Doctore” he continues. WHAM! Agron slams into Crixus, knocking him off his feet. The two men struggle, throwing punches. “Genug (enough)“ Danica says as she pulls Agron off Crixus. The rest of the day flys by with no other incident thankfully. The next day Spartacus annihilates Rhaskos in the morning’s training. Crixus glances over, dissecting the Champion’s moves for future reference as he again spars with Duro. 

Crixus stands like a bronze god as a slave scrapes the grime off his chiseled flesh. “Verdammt Gallien (fucking gaul)' Danica says out loud without meaning to. ''denkt, er besitzt den verdammten Platz, ich werde eines Tages seinen Kopf haben (thinks he owns the fucking place I will have his head one day)'' she continues. '' Danica commom tounge if you would.'' Spartacus says with a geniuon smile on his face one that is long over due. ''She says she will have the Gaul's head.'' Agron replies before Danica can. '' I am Agron and this is my brother Duro.'' Agron says introducing the two Germans. ''Danica, Spartacus and....'' ''Varro.'' The blonde says standing next to his friends. 

Lucretia gazes down at Crixus training in the morning sun, her emotions well concealed. Crixus fends off Duro, who is intent on making up for his earlier defeat. Crixus laughs, enjoying the challenge. ''Finally, the pup bares his teeth.'' he says. Agron glances over from his own sparring with Danica, grins at his brother’s performance. Varro is hauled out into the square by Hector and another guard and unceremoniously dumped to the sand. Doctore frowns at him. ''Perhaps next time thought will precede tongue. Pair with Spartacus.'' Doctore says. Varro wearily complies. Spartacus eyes his friend’s ragged condition. ''Sleep did not come?'' Spartacus asks quietly. ''Nor is it deserved.'' Varro replies.“Embrace dreams when the sun falls. I have news.” The dark haired Gladiator says. “Aurelia...?” Varro asks brightening. “Not yet. But I have dispatched Mira, one of the house slaves, to look for her. And your son.” The encouraging words rally Varro.

“How do you manage such a thing?” he asks. “Mira was sent by Domina. To prepare me for... certain duties required of a champion.” Spartacus replies. “So the gods throw women at you,   
now!” Varro laughs. Crixus, expertly deflects Duro’s assault until his attention flickers to Naevia in the pantry, talking with Hector. He unlocks the gate from the mess hall and joins her inside. As he shuts the gate behind him, she laughs shyly, lightly touching his arm. Crixus fills with rage  
Duro taking the unfortunate brunt of it. Crixus attacks, brutally dismantling the young gladiator.  
Agron instinctively moves to protect his brother, but then stops short. He locks eyes with Spartacus, remembering his words from earlier, thinks better of it. 

Crixus spins, landing a vicious crack to Duros jaw, lifting him off his feet, blood spraying. He crashs to the sand. Doctore nods, pleased with the move. “Your form returns. Pair with Hamilcar.” he says. Crixus, chest heaving, moves to comply. His eyes fall to the pantry as he goes, his heart dropping as he finds Naevia and Hector now gone. Duro spits blood as he painfully rises, looking to his brother for support. Agron turns away, continues sparring. Danica catches the silent exchange. “It appears Duro has lost his brother.” she says. “Better than his head.” Spartacus says slamming into her. She laughs as he helps her to feet before they go to the mess hall to eat.


	10. Party Favors

Spartacus stares out at the arena through the gate as the crowd chants his name in anticipation. Varro and Danica join his side. “They roar your name.” Danica says. “Soon they shall roar yours as well.” Spartacus replies. Danica smiles and Varro nods, obviously preoccupied. Spartacus frowns. “Or mourn it, if your mind is absent the task.” He says looking to Varro. “I have yet to have word on my wife and son --” the blonde starts but is interrupted by Spartacus. “I will not fight alongside a man who is not clear to his purpose.” Varro hardens with a grim smile.“I am clear. My purpose is blood.” 

Varro slams his shield into a Gladiator’s unprotected face. Blood and teeth fly. Varro, Spartacus and Danica are without helmets and tethered together by fifteen feet of chain attached to a belt each has around their waist. They are in the midst of a chain battle, fighting three Gladiator pairs also tethered together, sans helmets. Remnants of other dueling teams lay slain on the blood-soaked sand. Steel clangs as Spartacus drives his pair back. Blood sprays in a shower of gore as he dispatches them. Varro is knocked back, struggling to fend off an attack. “Varro.” Danica calls to her friend. He grins before ducking down as Danica runs up his back lunching herself into mid air cutting both of the Gladiator's heads off on the way down. The crowd go wild never having seen a woman fight like that in the arena. 

Spartacus charges,using the chain between him and Varro to sweep the opposing team off their feet. As their opponents scramble to their feet, Spartacus rushes in --Varro swivels on his knees, holding up his shield for Spartacus, who uses it as a ramp to launch into the air Spartacus' twin swords violently rip open both Gladiators on his way down. Numerius the Magistrate's son, presses against the railing. “Even chained to inferior gladiators, Spartacus prevails!” he says excited. Batiatus laughs in agreement from his seat next to Magistrate Titus Calavius. His wife Domitia sits with Lucretia. Naevia serves wine. “We would expect no less from the Champion of Capua! See how he   
ignites the crowd! His presence at your son's birthday will be the talk of the Republic.” Batiatus says. “A far cry from my own fifteenth year. When I put on the Toga Virilis and passed into manhood, it was a stuffy, formal ceremony ridden with corpses and hags.” Calavius replies. 

They arrange for it to happen at the Ludas. Their attention is pulled when Numerius erupts in a cheer. A Sumo-sized Cataphractarius,wielding a large battle-axe, but no shield, his enormous   
frame armored in Lorica Squamata (scale armor linked in horizontal rows). Sumo winds up and brings his axe down, severing the chain from his dead partner. Sumo charges in, his newfound mobility causing problems for Spartacus, Danica and Varro, who stumble backwards as they defend,   
their slashes and thrusts impenetrable against his metal scales. They fall back, bruised and bleeding. “His armor gives pause.” Varro and Danica say at the same time. “Then we shall aim higher.” Spartacus replies grinning. Spartacus takes off, rushing Sumo. As he nears the behemoth, Spartacus barely dodges the man's axe and soars through the air, whipping his chain around the man's neck as   
he goes. Spartacus lands and rolls to his feet, shouting at Varro and Danica. “The chain.” They both drop their swords and shields and grab the chain. Spartacus doing the same from the opposite side. Sumo struggles to free himself as they pull with all their might. 

They grunt as they give one last mighty yank, popping the Sumos head clean off . A Geyser of blood erupts from Sumo's neck stump as he falls dead to the sand. The cheers are deafening as Spartacus Danica and Varro stand victorious. They clasp hands and raise their arms as   
one. 

Duro crashes to the ground, sent there by his brother Agron while they spar. Agron snorts in disgust.  
“Get up.” The exterior gate swings open, pulling his attention to Spartacus, Danica Varro, Doctore and other Gladiators returning from the games. Cheers erupt for the triumphant heroes. All the men that didn't fight rush over to hear today's tales from the arena. Crixus, bitter as fuck that he didn't fight today, doesn't join them. He hangs back, striking a palus with contempt. Ashur, unable to resist a little passive aggressiveness, sidles up as he surveys the boisterous scene. He says something before moving away a smile on his face. 

“You both fought well today.” Spartacus says. “The gods favored me, to count you as ally.” Varro replies. Something catches Spartacus' eye behind Varro. “Their favor extends beyond the arena...” Varro turns to find his wife Aurelia and his son Janus being led into the mess hall by Mira and a guard. Her belly shows slight evidence of her pregnancy's progression. Varro rushes over, tears of joy filling his eyes as he sweeps them up into his arms. Spartacus catches Mira's eye, graces her with a smile of gratitude. Mira returns the smile and moves off into the villa. 

Crixus hammers Duro under Doctore's watchful eye. Varro spars with Spartacus and Danica spars with Agron. “You and Crixus battling as entertainment? Something the boy will never forget.” Varro says. “It is only exhibition. Dominus gave us instruction to avoid grievous injury.” Spartacus replies. CRACK! Crixus sends Duro crashing to the ground, dazed and bloody. He raises the two-fingered missio in surrender. Crixus shoots Spartacus an unpleasant grin: you're next. Varro frowns. “I do not believe he was listening.” he says. Lucretia watches Crixus with appreciation. Naevia attends her close by, attempting to mask her own appreciation. 

“Your Gaul is restored.” Lucretia turns to find Ilithyia stepping out onto the balcony, perfectly composed, returned to form. Lucretia takes her in with a smile. “Nor is he alone. The sun revives what night had withered.” Lucretia replies. “Due to kindness of a dear friend.” Ilithyia smiles. “And is kindness returned?” the red head asks. “The Magistrate's celebration will swell with all names provided.” the blonde woman replies. “Gratitude.” Ilithyia smiles warmly, masking her venom for Lucretia's manipulation. “Would that I had words to multiply it in response.” She continues. Her eyes fall on Spartacus, Danica and Varro below as the Gladiators break for the mess hall. Varro slings his arms around his friend's shoulder, laughing as they go.“Yet the value of a friend cannot be   
expressed by the clever grouping of letters. It is blood and flesh, granting life to the world.”  
Ilithyia says clocking the closeness of Spartacus Danica and Varro's relationship. 

The three of them sit at table talking and laughing when Crixus Approachs and ruins the moment. Spartacus gets ready to fight but a guard summons him away before he can do something stupid. Batiatus and Ashur are playing Latrunculi, an ancient Roman strategy-based game. It's clear that Batiatus is winning handily. He addresses Spartacus with half an eye still on the game. “The Magistrate will arrive well in advance of the guests tomorrow, to ensure preparations are to his standards. While I reassure him, I would have you tend to his son. It is imperative the boy is well   
satisfied, and by proximity his noble father.” Batiatus says. “The name Batiatus will be honourerd.” Spartacus replies. They continue to talk and Batiatus sends Ashur off to get more wine whilst he and Spartacus play another round.The Guard escorts Spartacus back to the ludus. Spartacus then tenses as they come around a corner to find Hector struggling with Mira. Her lip bloody, dress torn, breast exposed. Visibly shaken. “Spartacus.” she says. “Hold fucking tounge.” Hector snaps. They argue before Batiatus stops it. 

The next morning the Gladiators are training. Spartacus Danica and Varro spar together under Doctores orders. “You need to protect flank.” Danica says hitting Varro just under the ribs he grunts then attacks with a laugh. The Magistrate enters with his wife Domitia and son Numerius. A convoy of slaves and personal guards accompany him. Batiatus and Lucretia greet them, their own gaurds and slaves(including Naevia and Mira) assembled in the lushly appointed atrium. “Magistrate Calavius! The House of Batiatus welcomes you, on this, such a glorious day! A boy enters my gates, yet leaves a man!” Batiatus grins at Numerius. They talk a while longer before Numerius who practically bursts with excitement as he's led out to see the Gladatiors.

Crixus battles a Gladatior, Agron and Duro spar together before Doctore throws Danica into the mix. Doctore oversees all. Varro sends Rhaskos crashing to the ground, presses his sword to   
his neck. Numerius is walking beside Spartacus at the edge of the Training Square, watching the Gladiators with rapt fascination. The two Guards follow at a respectful distance. “What is it like, having the life of another resting in your hands?” Numerius asks. “My sword may deliver the final   
blow, but a gladiator's fate is for the crowd and the editor to decide.” Spartacus replies. Numerius absorbs this, then clocks something nearby. “Who is that woman?” the young boy asks. Spartacus looks over to where Numerius looks smiling when he sees Danica kicking Agron and Duro's asses. “Her name is Danica.” he replies. “And she trains as a Gladiator?” “Yes” “I have never seen such a thing.” “Come. It has been too long since last we trained. Let us see what you remember.” Spartacus says. He gathers two practice swords, hands one to Numerius and they begin to trade mock blows. 

Numerius is with his friends, laughing as he excitedly shows them the moves with the wooden sword he received from Spartacus. The boy could not be happier -- or more satisfied. Magistrate Calaviuslooks on from across the room with Batiatus, Domitia, and Lucretia. Ilithyia joins them, a cup of wine in her hand and a wry smile gracing her lips. “Let us call him boy no longer.   
Does he not appear to you a man?” she says. They discuse this a while longer. Ilithyia shifts her eyes to Spartacus standing next to Varro and Danica, on display with the other Gladiators (including Crixus). Varro notices the hint of venom in Ilithyia's glance, whispers to Spartacus. “It appears the wife of the Legatus yet harbors grudge.” Spartacus glances at Ilithyia. Her attention is pulled away   
as she's assaulted in greeting by AemIlia and Caecilia. “She is a cat absent claws.” he replies. 

“Yet fangs remain.” Danica whispers. Mira carries a tray of food, slowing as she passes Spartacus.  
“Gratitude for last night.” she says. Spartacus looks across the room where Hector stares daggers   
in their direction, the burn on his face still fresh. “The man overstepped. I merely made correction.” the Thracian replies. “Still, the heart swells at such kindness.” “Then see it deflate. I would have   
done the same for any woman.” “You are an ass.” Mira storms off. Varro chuckles. “The Champion of Capua. Always making friends.” he says. “I need but two.” Spartacus replies looking at Varro and his hand gently brushing Danica's. Varro chuckles, spotting Crixus glaring at Spartacus, wishing him dead. “Fortunate. Since it appears we are all you have.” Varro says. 

Batiatus stands beside the Magistrate and Numerius, calling the guests to order. “Come! Gather, esteemed guests! (spotting Solonius entering) And those of questionable repute.” The patrons chuckle. Solonius' smile tightens. “Tonight the House of Batiatus is humbled to help celebrate a most glorious occasion. The son of Magistrate Calavius will cast off the robes of a boy and become a proper Roman man!” he continues. The patrons clap, including Ilithyia standing with Aemelia   
and Caecelia across the room. Numerius grins awkwardly, a little uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “Yet before he dons the Toga Virilis, let us honor him with sport and blood! A contest between present and past. Spartacus, Champion of Capua! Step forward!” Spartacus complies. The patrons ogle him, clearly impressed. Crixus glares, ready to destroy him. Naevia clocks the look, worry etching her face.

“And Crixus! Former Champion, step..” Batiatus begins but is interupted by Numerius. “Wait.”  
Crixus pauses, confused. Batiatus shares the feeling. “I fear Crixus has seen his best day past. I would have Varro fight in his place.” Numerius furtively looks to Ilithyia, who gives the slightest of smiles. This is why she seduced the boy. Batiatus recovers with a laugh. “You are the editor, young master! Your will, our hands! Varro! Step forward!” Crixus fumes, his eyes wild with fury. Doctore gives him a look: settle down. Crixus takes a step backwards as an elated Varro moves up next to Spartacus. “Did you have hand in my elevation?” the blonde whispers. “The boy's change comes as surprise.” Spartacus replies. “It seems the gods favor us both now.” Varro says. 

Varro grins as Doctore signals for two slaves to bring them weapons. Varro with sword and shield, Spartacus with two swords. Doctore locks eyes with them. “Honor the boy. Honor this ludus.” Batiatus steps forward, leaving Lucretia to stew. “Numerius! These men, these titans of the arena, are yours to command!” he says. Numerius takes a step forward, raises his fist, then brings it down sharply. “Begin!” Spartacus grins as he and Varro circle one another. Spartacus attacks. He trades thunderous blows with Varro, who spins and counters with lightning dexterity. Varro drives his sword down which Spartacus blocks with both of his blades. Danica follows Spartacus' every move,   
unable to quell her blossoming feelings. Spartacus spins and swings both swords, which Varro   
barely manages to sidestep. Doctore watches stoically. Spartacus grunts as Varro catches him across the lower right side of his stomach, opening a long thin gash. 

 

Ilithyia's face twists into a dark smile. Spartacus returns the favor, drawing blood across Varro's   
chest. Varro flinches back, grins as the two men circle. Crixus glares, desperately wishing he were facing Spartacus. He catches Naevis glancing at him from across the room. She subtly smiles her support. Crixus softens. Spartacus and Varro trade blows and blood, both grinning at the friendly rivalry. Spartacus loses one of his swords, Varro his shield. Spartacus evades Varro's attack. Spartacus takes advantage of an opening and slices Varro's flank with one sword and sweeps his left foot with the other. Varro crashes to the floor losing his sword. He scrambles to his knees, only to find Spartacus on him, sword at his neck. Varro laughs, raising the two finger surrender of the missio. The patrons clap and cheer as Spartacus and Varro share private words. A look of mutual respect between these two. Batiatus beams as he addresses the crowd. 

“Spartacus, the Champion of Capua still! And Varro, a formidable challenger, to be closely watched   
in the arena!” Applause from the patrons as Batiatus looks to Numerius. “Numerius! Pass judgment on our fallen warrior!” Numerius steps forward and delivers the thumbs down, as if it were a declaration of his manhood. A hush fills the room as Batiatus tightens, sharing a worried look with Lucretia. Ilithyia smiles. This is exactly what she planned. Danica realizes her plan. Varro tenses  
as he and Spartacus trade confused looks. Spartacus' eyes flash to Batiatus for an explanation. Batiatus forces a smile, whispering to Calavius. “Apologies, Magistrate, but we agreed this was merely an exhibition. Not a fight to the death.” he says. Numerius catches Ilithyia's eye, turns to his father. The Magistrate grins. Proud of his son's fortitude.“Numerius has made his decision. I   
shall reimburse you the cost of the man.” Batiatus weighs his options. Kill one of his best gladiators, or disappoint the Magistrate. A tense beat, then Batiatus nods to Spartacus.

“Proceed.” Spartacus locks eyes with Varro. At a loss. Both men trapped. Spartacus doesn't move. He can't. Danica doesnt breath. The delay causes the crowd to Murmur at the insubordination. Spartacus still doesn't move, so Batiatus motions for the Guards. This is deadly fucking serious. The Guards step forward, drawing their swords. Hector grins widely as he unsheathes his blade, hoping Spartacus does something stupid. Spartacus tenses ready to kill anyone who comes near them. Varro knows exactly what his friend is thinking. “Don't. They will kill us both. There is no choice.”  
“There is always a choice.” Spartacus replies. “Not this time. She needs you.” Varro whispers. 

Spartacus shifts his eyes to Batiatus, his hand tensing on his sword. Varro knows Spartacus is about to get them both killed -- and there's only one way to stop it. Varro grabs Spartacus' sword and thrusts it down halfway into his own chest. Spartacus is stunned. Varro looks up at Spartacus, blood   
leaking from his mouth, tears filling his eyes. “Live... And see my wife provided for. And know... I would have done the same...” he says. A long, agonizing beat and then... Spartacus thrusts his blade down through Varro's chest. Varro collapses to the floor -- dead. Spartacus is devastated. He stumbles back, his sword clanging to the ground. Everything comes through to him now as if underwater. The patrons laughing. Danica lowers her head only for it snap up a few seceonds later her eyes full of hate. She turns to Numerius. “I will have your fucking heart.” then she turns to Ilithyia. “And you...you better pray I never get my hands on you.” Danica and Spartacus are escourted out of the hall. 

Spartacus stalks his cell, a caged beast. Racked with sorrow and rage. His mind flashing to Varro’s face as he died by Spartacus’ hand. Spartacus erupts and destroys everything in his cell. He pounds his fists against the wall, blood spraying as the skin tears from his knuckles. The eruption passes, leaving him drained and empty. Danica stands in the doorway. A beat. She goes to him, tenderly embraces this broken man. Tears spill from Danica's eyes as she pulls him close to her. Spartacus tenses. Then his own tears fall as he pulls her to him, desperate for the contact. Spartacus sinks   
into Danica. As two damaged souls become one.


	11. Authers note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> authers note

Hey guys and girls could you please give me some feedback on what you have read so far once you get to this point.  
Just let me know what you like and dont like about what I've done so far.   
Which charaters you would to see more of and just any other comments you have as I'm trying to get my writing to the point its the best it can be.   
Thank you   
Jaymi xx


	12. Old Wounds

Varro's dead body lies on a table. Splattered with dried blood. His fatal wound an angry accusation. Spartacus and Danica are standing at the foot of the table. The pain and guilt over his part in ending Varro's life cloud Spartacus' eyes. Sleep has obviously evaded him. His knuckles are raw and cracked, and he bears the scrapes and shallow cuts from his "exhibition" match. Danica slides her hand into his. “It is never an easy thing.” Doctore appears. Spartacus' eyes remain fixed on Varro whilst Danica turns to face Doctore her hand never leaving Spartacus'. “To see a friend once loved, now absent breath.” he continues. “He should yet walk. With that foolish grin, and dreams of a life beyond these walls.” Danica replies. “Every night breaks. And we must all wake.” Doctore says softly. Spartacus grimaces, his free hand dropping to the shallow wound on his lower right side, inflicted by Varro. “I would have the gods turn back the sun... and set me in his place.” the Thracian says. Danica squeezes his hand in comfort. “He fought with honor. As did you both.” Doctore tries to comfert Spartacus. “His heart was stilled for a boy's amusement. Where is the honor in that?” The Thracian says disgusted. “Varro left this world a gladiator. And shall be remembered as such.” Doctore tries. “No. He will be remembered as a husband. A father. And a friend among enemies.” Danica says. 

Spartacus is summond away and he is informed by Batiatus that he is in the midst of plotting revenge and Spartacus should try to carry on as normal. Spartacus agrees as long as his winnings go to Varro's wife and child. Spartacus is carrying a litter burdened with Varro's body. Helping him as pallbearers are Hamilcar, Rhaskos, and Danica. Doctore leads them. The other Gladiator's in the training square pause to pay their respects. Duro and Agron trade a somber look. Varro's is carried to the gate where his wife Aurelia and young son Janus await. Varro's body is loaded onto the back of a cart. Doctore nods to Aurelia. He and the other men then return to the square. Spartacus lingers, attempting to find words to express his sorrow. “Aurelia” She tears her shell-shocked gaze from her husband's face to meet Spartacus' eyes.“Is it true? That he perished by your sword?” she asks. Face wracked with anguish, Spartacus nods. Tears spill down Aurelia's face. “He loved you as a brother.” Spartacus can muster no response as Aurelia turns away. 

 

Spartacus moves through the corridors. He catches maddening glimpses of Dead Varro as he pushes his way past men gambling and laughing. He rushes after him, bursting outside into the training square. Spartacus slows to a stop out on the sand. Confusion creases his face as we reveal the training square is empty. Spartacus blinks the sweat from his eyes, not comprehending. A hand touches his shoulder, startling him. He whirls around to find Danica has appeared behind him, She regards Spartacus with concern. “Apologies. I called your name...” She says. “I did not hear.” Spartacus replies absently. She notes his pale features, his red-rimmed eyes. “You do not appear yourself.” Spartacus starts to turn away. Her hand reaches out to stop him, accidentally grazing the wound on his side. He winces in pain. “ Apologies.” Danica whispers. Spartacus takes her by the hand and leads her to his cell closing the door behind them. He lays Danica down and kisses her giving in to comfort they both need. 

The next day Spartacus collapses with a fever. Batiatus tells the medius if he needs help Danica is to be roped in. Spartacus violently convulses, unconscious, the fever consuming him. Medicus tries to force a cup of Liqiud down his throat, but Spartacus is thrashing too much. “Fucking hold him down!” Danica drops a compress, rushes over to assist. Medicus pours his concoction into Spartacus' mouth. Spartacus sputters and chokes, begins to calm. Spartacus screams, back arching in a rigid convulsion as he thrashes. Danica and the Medicus struggle to lash his arms and legs with leather straps. His howls of agony echo through the halls. A while he has calmed. Medicus stifles a yawn, barks to Danica tending to Spartacus across the room. “I need food and a few hours sleep.   
Come for me if his condition changes.” Danica nods and Medicus exits. She wrings out a wet cloth,   
gingerly places it across Spartacus' fevered brow. 

Spartacus bursts awake, the scream lingering on his lips. Danica, startled, tries to calm him. “I am here. Be still...” Spartacus tries to get his bearings, eyes wild, the leather straps restraining him. “The fever has broken. The gods have blessed you...” Danica continues. Spartacus' eyes fall on Aulus, still asleep in his Henbane-induced haze. A grim smile bends Spartacus' parched, cracked lips. “Yes. They have.” the Thracian replies. “I will fetch Medicus.” “Wait. Release the straps. I would speak to this man. Alone.” Danica eyes Aulus, not understanding -- nor liking the tone in Spartacus' voice. Danica keeps watch outside. 

Aulus tells Spartacus what really happened when Sura was killed and in turn Spartacus ends his life. Danica helps Spartacus put Aulus back on the table then does the straps on Spartacus back up and pretends nothing happened. Spartacus, looking pale but much better, has taken to the sand along with Danica. Crixus and the other men are already training. Spartacus arms himself with practice swords, pausing as Batiatus calls to him. “Spartacus! The heart stirs to see you among the living! You are well?” he asks. “Yes, Dominus. I am myself again.” he replies. The proclamation holding a deeper truth, one filled with vengeance yet to come.


	13. Revelations

Crixus as he returns from the arena. He passes Agron tending his brother Duro, bruised and bloodied from an earlier fight. Crixus continues on, glaring at Spartacus as he goes. Spartacus doesn't even notice, his mind focused only on vengeance against Batiatus. Doctore approaches with Spartacus' swords. Spartacus glowers. “I request words with Batiatus, yet you return absent the man.” he says. “Other matters occupy his attention.” Doctore replies handing him his swords. “I have pressed for audience all week. Dominus forgets who his champion is.” Spartacus says bitterly. “It is you who forgets title of master and slave.” A tense beat, broken by the fanfare of trumpets. Spartacus swallows his anger -- for the moment. “Apologies. I have made many mistakes since becoming Champion. Know that I intend to rectify them shortly.” His true intentions barely concealed behind burning eyes. 

Solonius is shoved out into the arena, sword in hand. He stands disoriented as the crowd boos and pelts him with garbage. The crowd goes insane as Spartacus comes out of the chute and squares off across from Solonius. Solonius swallows his fear, drawing himself up. “You survived your execution, Thracian. Upon these very sands. Perhaps good Solonius shall fare as well.” he says.   
“I would not expect it.” Spartacus replies. He turns to lock eyes with Batiatus in the Pulvinus.  
“Begin!” Solonius bellows as he suddenly attacks -- and proves that he is not without considerable skill with a sword. The crowd roars. Spartacus defends but does not strike back. 

Solonius reels back, a gash across his cheek. Spartacus eyes him with appreciation. Solonius attacks again. The crowd roars as Spartacus engages him, trading blows. Spartacus drives Solonius back with vicious precision. The crowd roars as Spartacus inflicts one wound after another, slicing Solonius to pieces in a spray of blood. Solonius falls to his kness ,his sword tumbling from his hand. The crowd cheers. Solonius gazes into the stands with a sense of wonder. He looks up as Spartacus looms over him. “You take the wrong life. Your master Batiatus. He is the villain.” Solonius says. “And shall join you presently.” Spartacus replies. It dawns on Solonius that Spartacus plans to kill Batiatus. A smile forms just as Spartacus slams his sword though Solonius' neck. The crowd roars as he yanks it out and Solonius' body collapses in a spray of blood. Spartacus looks to the Pulvinus where Batiatus nods to Spartacus with a satisfied smile. Spartacus has a smile of his own forms, one tinged with thoughts of vengeance. 

Spartacus sits and stares ahead. Killing Batiatus his only thought. The door to his cell opens, revealing Danica. Spartacus glances over, says nothing. She sits beside him and wraps her arms around him. “What bothers you.?” She asks. “I fear Batiatus suspects my hand in Aulus' death.” Spartacus says. “He appears absent weight of pressing concern. If he harbored suspicion --” Danica begins. “Then why does he not grant me audience?!” Spartacus interrupts. Danica catches the intense hatred flashing in Spartacus' eyes. She pauses, gauging the meaning of it. “And what matter is the Champion so keen to broach?” she asks. Spartacus doesn't answer. Danica begins to put the pieces together. “Aulus dies by your hand. And furious passion to stand before Batiatus follows. What secrets did Aulus reveal in final breath, that so inflamed?” “That his hand robbed Sura of life.   
By command of Batiatus.” the Thracian says. Spartacus locks eyes with her. She tenses as the true nature of his intentions slam into her. 

“You plan vengeance!” Spartacus turns away. “You cannot do this! Spartacus --” Danica pleads. “That is not what she called me! Never again will I hear her whisper my true name. Or taste the joy of it upon her lips. I will see the light fade from his eyes, or join her in the attempt.” Spartacus says deadly calm. “At expense of my life? And every slave in the House of Batiatus! The fucking Thracian does not know Roman law! If one slave spills the blood of his master, all are put to death.” Danica snaps. A beat as Spartacus absorbs that. “Every man to his own fate. And I to mine.” he replies softly. Events put Spartacus' vengence on hold. 

Spartacus watches Aurelia as he trains, his heart heavy with guilt. Doctore speaks with Agron and   
Duro. “You are to fight separately.” he says. “But we were victorious!” Agron protests. “The decision has been made. Duro. Train with Hamilcar.” Doctore walks away. Duro laughs. “Finally. Opportunity to remove myself from your fucking shadow.” Duro says. He joins Hamilcar with a grin. Agron's mind races. He spots Spartacus, an idea forming as he crosses to him. “Spartacus. I would make request.” “Ask another, if you seek it granted.” the Thracian says. Spartacus motions for him to spar. Agron complies. “It is not for me, but for my brother. Batiatus orders us parted.   
Duro greets the news with laugh and fucking smile. Yet I fear he shall not survive the arena on his own.” “You are not alone in the thought.” “Batiatus shows you much favor. A word from your lips could see the decision undone.” Agron says hopefully. Spartacus darkens at the mention of Batiatus.  
“Batiatus favors no one but himself.” 

A crush of gladiators are assembled, all in chains Danica among them. Glaber moves past Agron and Duro, then Crixus. Crixus glances across the room at Naevia, who averts her eyes in shame.   
Ashur notes the building rage in Crixus. Glaber comes to rest in front of Spartacus, looking him over in cool dissection. Batiatus tenses. “The Champion of Capua. A sad day when an honored city elevates a cur to such position.” He says. Spartacus catches sight of Aurelia standing near Mira, says nothing. Now is not the time. “I see you have taught the animal not to speak out of turn. I would have demonstration of other tricks the Thracian has learned. Unchain him.” Glaber continues. Batiatus reluctantly nods for Hector to unchain Spartacus.   
Spartacus steps forward, taking two practice swords from Doctore. 

“Which of my men would you have oppose him?” Batiatus asks. “None. (to his men) Formation.”  
They draw their swords and spread out, forming a huge circle around Spartacus. Mira, standing near Aurelia, tenses. “Spartacus wields practice swords. I fear he is at disadvantage.” Batiatus tries.   
“I but give him chance to prove his legend. Iovis.” Iovis, a thick-jawed brute, steps forward with a grin. Doctore shoots Batiatus a look -- this is not right. Batiatus signals Doctore to stand down. Ilithyia grins wickedly as she watches from Lucretia's side. Lucretia shoots her a tight look.  
“Begin!” Iovis charges. Spartacus deflects, his twin wooden swords slicing the air with deadly, practiced intent. Iovis is completely dismantled by Spartacus' superior skill and agility. He crashes to the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Spartacus locks eyes with Glaber, ready for more. Vesper and Linus rush in from opposite sides, attacking Spartacus. Batiatus tenses, realizing Glaber intends to kill Spartacus. Spartacus battles Vesper and Linus. Vesper manages to slice Spartacus across the shoulder. Spartacus grunts, redoubles his own assault. Vesper goes down. Glaber snarls, signaling   
the rest of his men to attack. 

Danica looks on with worry as Glaber's remaining men swarm in. Spartacus takes a few hits, driving him back. His eyes land on Batiatus for a brief, frozen moment. Spartacus' resolve hardens -- he will not die while Batiatus yet lives. Spartacus eruptsa man possessed. He counters and attacks, a demon of pain and vengeance. Men scream as blood splatters. Crixus watchs, detached from the life and death struggle as his eyes continue to flick to Naevia. A smile bends Ashur's lips as   
he drifts towards Naevia, intent on seeing his own battle with Crixus concluded. Spartacus spins and attacks Glaber's men in a frenetic orgy of violence. The last man crashes to the floor. Spartacus stands in the center of a circle of the semi-conscious, bleeding men. Batiatus beams. “Behold. The legend, proved.” Spartacus bows his head in "respect". “Dominus.”

“This savage caused Rome great offense!” Glaber exclaims. Glaber surveys his injured men -- and can't help but consider Spartacus with begrudging respect. “Yet it appears you have broken the   
man. The way he bows in deference. Would I be afforded such courtesies, I wonder, if patronage were to be awarded?” he continues. “He would be yours to command, as all my men.” Batiatus replies. Glaber locks eyes with Spartacus. “Kneel. And it shall be so.” Spartacus hesitates. Batiatus tenses. Spartacus glances to Aurelia -- and complies. “Legatus.” Glaber smiles in satisfaction. Batiatus glows, all his hopes and dreams about to be realized. 

Glaber's Men roughly herd the shackled Gladiators into the cells. Iovis shoves Duro. “Fuck ass, you Roman cock.” Duro says. Vesper cracks Duro with a truncheon. He half collapses into Agron's arms, face bleeding. The Gladiators yell and protest. Glaber's men shove them into the cells and lock them. Danica shears a cell with Spartacus. Spartacus whispers to Agron and Duro from the adjoining cell. “I would caution softer words.” “The shit keeps rising higher in this fucking hole.” Agron replies. Spartacus considers that, a plan starting to form. “Perhaps it best not to be present, when it fills the mouth.” This is not said lightly. Gets their attention. “What do you speak of?” Agron asks. “I speak of nothing.” Spartacus replies. “Nothing sounds much like escape.” Duro says. Spartacus' look confirms that this is exactly his meaning. “And how would "nothing" find way through Batiatus and all his fucking Romans?” he continues. 

“There is but one path. We kill them all.”


	14. Kill them all

The sun hangs low in the sky as Batiatus and Lucretia stand proud atop the balcony, which brims with Roman elite. Domitia, Numerius, Aemilia and her husband Sextus among them. Ilithyia is at Lucretia's side, a forced smile gracing her lips. Ashur hovers near Batiatus, ever the loyal dog. Mira and Aurelia serve wine and food in the background. Spartacus, Danica, Agron, Duro, Crixus, and the other Gladiators are on display in the training square. All are in chains, under the watchful eye of Doctore. Guards and several of Glaber's men, led by Iovis, are stationed to keep the gladiators in   
check. Spartacus is fixed on Batiatus as he addresses the crowd. “The noble House of Batiatus stands deeply humbled! Humbled by the blessings the gods have seen fit to shower upon us. And by the presence of the most revered citizens in all of Capua, come to join in celebrating the patronage of Legatus Claudius Glaber!” Polite applause. Spartacus steals a concerned glance at Crixus. He does not return it with his usual blistering scorn. He simply averts his eyes, lost in his own thoughts.  
“The man himself regrets duties of the senate prevent attendance. Yet he would see you properly   
addressed, his words delivered by pleasing tongue of trusted wife.” He indicates Ilithyia. She steps forward, reading from a small scroll.

“Good citizens of Rome's favored sister. It is with great pleasure that I, Legatus Claudius Glaber,   
bestow upon Quintus Lentulus Batiatus my patronage, and all encompassing benefits. No man in   
all of Capua is more deserving of such esteemed privilege.” A hint of displeasure lurks behind Ilithyia's practiced smile as she glances at Lucretia. Lucretia returns it with a satisfied one of her own. “Good Batiatus should be held as example to a city mired in shadows and treachery.” Danica fidgets, her eyes flicking to the Guards. “The guiding light of his virtuous heart providing illumination in these dark and troubling times. For this reason and too many others to give voice, I lend Batiatus full and unconditional support towards the honored position of Aedile.” Ilithyia continues. “Still yourself.” Spartacus says to Danica softly. 

Batiatus shares a smile with Lucretia. Everything is going according to plan. He turns back to the crowd, beaming. “My heart to Legatus Glaber and his support. In hopes that you will share it in the days to come, I present a gift of blood! Two legends of the arena, to face each other sine missione! No quarter given! No mercy shown! Behold, Crixus! The savage Gaul!” Batiatus says. There's more than a little contempt in that description. A fleeting look of guilt clouds Lucretia's eyes as Crixus   
steps forward. The crowd applauds, excited as Crixus is unchained and given sword and shield. Ashur eyes his hated nemesis with a barely contained, knowing smile. “And who shall attempt to tame him? There could be but one! Spartacus! Slayer of the Shadow of Death!” Batiatus finishes.   
The crowd goes wild as Spartacus is unchained and given two swords. Danica watches with fearful intensity. “He is of a form, is he not?” Amelia asks. “He stands a god.” Numerius replies. Aurelia glances at him, uncertain, trying to unravel something in her mind. Spartacus squares off against Crixus, but something is obviously troubling him. He whispers, attempting to broach subject.  
“Crixus” he begins. “I have given you answer. Let us finish this.” the Gaul replies. “Begin!”  
Crixus attacks. Spartacus hardens his resolve and counters, trading thunderous blows.

Flashback   
Mira and Aurelia pour wine and lay out food. Lucretia ignores them, absently watching Spartacus, Danica and the men train as the sun sets. Her mind drifts towards Crixus, her hand absently dropping to caress her belly. Batiatus' hand slips over hers as he appears behind her, nuzzling her neck. “Can you yet feel him move, eager to make entrance into the world?” he asks.“It is too soon by many months. And how do you divine a son?” Lucretia replies. They talk a while longer and Lucretia comes up with the idea of a battle to the death between Spartacus and Crixus knowing that Spartacus would kill Crixus and she would have her revenge. 

Back to present day.   
Spartacus crashes to the ground, bleeding. Crixus charges, attempting to sever head from neck. Spartacus narrowly intercepts the blow, managing to kick Crixus back and regain his footing. Crixus hammers him with sword and shield. Spartacus shoots a look toMira on the balcony. What the fuck is she waiting for? Mira glances at Lucretia, trying to muster her nerve. “I would not have wagered the Gaul such a challenge to Spartacus!” Aemiilia says. “You underestimate the man, Aemilia. Crixus was once Champion, was he not?” Ilithyia replies. “The match is but newly born. Much may yet happen as it matures.” Batiatus says. Batiatus shares a look with Lucretia. Ashur suppresses a grin. Mira whispers to Lucretia, finally gaining her courage “Apologies, Domina. I must gather more wine from the stores.” “Send another. I would keep you close, to attend our guests.” Lucretia replies. “Domina.” Mira glances down to Spartacus, gives a subtle shake of her   
head. She's trapped.

Spartacus grits his teeth, refocusing his attention on deflecting Crixus' deadly assault. Agron shares a concerned look with Duro and Danica who doesn't know what the fuck to do. The plan is falling apart. Crixus redoubles his attack. Spartacus counters, drawing in close to hiss at him. “You must listen to me....” Crixus snarls, answering with his sword and drawing blood. The Romans cheer and scream, their faces twisted in bloodlust as Crixus pounds Spartacus. Spartacus and Crixus trade blows. Both bloodied by the conflict. If Crixus has been drugged, it sure as fuck isn't showing.  
Numerius roars in excitement as Crixus lands a series of blows. Crixus hacks at Spartacus with vicious determination.

Crixus pounds Spartacus -- but begins to falter, the drug finally taking effect. He blinks the sweat from his eyes, confusion washing across his face as he stumbles back. Spartacus seizes the moment, attacking. The crowd roars. Batiatus grins in relief, whispers to Lucretia. “Crixus begins to fade.” “As all memories do.” Lucretia replies. Her eyes harden as she drains her wine. She holds her cup   
out for Mira to refill it. “Mira --” She turns, surprised to find her gone. A bloodied hand unlocks the gate. Mira with a key taken from the Guard she killed. Spartacus spots Mira standing in the now open gateway to the pantry. She holds up her blood-stained palm as a signal. Spartacus snarls,  
attacking Crixus. Crixus struggles to counter, his vision blurring from the drug. They lock swords, Spartacus leaning in to hiss a warning. “You weaken because of something in your food! They wish you dead.”Crixus shoves Spartacus back. He looks up at Lucretia in shock. She averts her eyes, her guilt obvious. Crixus growls in rage, knowing he has been undone as he attacks Spartacus. He easily counters, hammering him. 

“I would not have this. Join me, brother. And see the House of Batiatus fall.” Crixus struggles with the choice as he continues to fight. With his last ounce of strength he manages to knock one of   
Spartacus' swords loose. It spins into the air, landing near Danica.Spartacus unleashes on Crixus,  
landing a blow that sends him crashing back onto the sand. The crowd cheers. Agron tenses. This is it. Blood drips down Crixus' face, the world coming through in distorted waves. He locks eyes with Spartacus -- and taps his shield, signaling his acceptance of what must be done. “Spartacus..” Spartacus bellowsand charges. Crixus raises his shield at the last moment. Spartacus uses it as ramp, as he did against Theokoles. Time slows as he soars through the air towards the balcony, framed by the golden light of the setting sun. Batiatus constricts in horror as he sees Spartacus slamming towards him. He grabs Sextus at the last moment, using him as a shield as time resumes. Spartacus runs Sextus through the head as he lands on the outside of the balcony. Pandemonium erupts   
as Sextus tumbles from the balcony, taking Ashur with him as he clutches for purchase with his dying breath. Time slows again as Ashur crashes to the ground, Sextus' body breaking his fall as he's knocked unconscious. Spartacus rears back to split Batiatus' skull in two. Batiatus' eyes go wide. 

Spartacus' hand is stopped by Doctores whip lashing around his wrist from below. Guests scream as they rush back into the villa. Batiatus wades through them with Lucretia and Ilithyia as Spartacus struggles against Doctore's whip. He's about to tumble from the balcony when Crixus severs the whip with his sword. Doctore flies back, sliding to a stop dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, dazed, face bleeding. Crixus roars to the men. “Kill them! Kill them all!” Chaos as Rhaskos and the other men erupt into violence. Danica grabs up Spartacus' fallen sword and attacks the Guards. Duro swings his chain, smashing a Guard in the face. Spartacus shakes the severed whip from his wrist and leaps over the railing. Guards attack. Spartacus trades blows as Batiatus seals the doors to the villa. 

The Guests rush through the villa. Aemilia wanders in shock, splattered in her husband's blood. Batiatus shoves past her with Lucretia, Ilithyia, Domitia, Numerius and Aurelia. “He tried to kill you. That fucking animal.” Lucretia fumes. “We must calm this! Where are the fucking guards?!” Batiatus hisses. “What do you stand there for?! Gather your men!” Lucretia snaps. The glint of opportunity flashes in Ilithyia's eyes.“I shall see you properly attended.” She surprises Lucretia with a kiss before she exits. Spartacus battles the Guards on the balcony. Down below, the Gladiators use their chains as weapons to block swords and clubs. bodies fly and blood splatters. Crixus struggles against the effects of the drug as he severs limbs with his sword. Danica comes to his aid as the Gaul distracts and she kills. Iovis slices open a Gladiator, bellowing.

Agron splits open a Guard with his sword. He grabs the man's keys, unlocks his chains.“Duro!”   
He tosses the keys to Duro, who follows suit. Crixus hacks a Guard open Danica at his side. He spots Ashur as he comes to from his fall. Crixus flares with hatred. “Crixus!” Crixus whirls to find Doctore coming at him from across the square. Ashur seizes the moment, escaping into the ludus. A   
Gladiator tries to intercept Doctore. Doctore tosses him, gaining the man's sword without breaking stride. “What is this madness?!” he demands. “My mind is clear. Spartacus shows us the way.” Crixus replies. Doctore's eyes shift to Spartacus on the balcony as he slices open one of the Guards.  
“He is a dog without honor!” he spits. “This house is without honor! Batiatus ordered his wife dead! And domina...She has tainted me, because I spurn her fucking heart.” Crixus spits back.   
“I have given my life to this ludus!” Doctore protests. “No. They have taken it from you. From all of us. They fill us with promises and lies, never to be kept. And it shall always be so while Batiatus draws breath. You asked me to put faith in you. Now I ask the same. Bring honor to us all, and see the end of this fucking house.” Crixus counters. 

Doctore wavers, tears welling in his eyes. He screams, his world shattering as he rears back and hurls his sword. Time slows as it rotates towards Crixus -- and narrowly misses him, instead slamming into Iovis as he raises his sword behind Crixus to cleave him in two. Time resumes as Iovis crashes to the sand, dead. Doctore spits in contempt, eyes hardening. “Go.” Crixus nods in gratitude. He turns and heads for the pantry gate. Rhaskos and half a dozen men fall in with him. Doctore stands frozen for a moment as the sun finally sinks below the horizon behind him. His eyes climb to Spartacus on the balcony as he kicks the last Guard through the office chamber door.  
The Guard crashes to the floor. He starts to scramble up but Spartacus slices him open. 

Mira enters from the hall leading to the pantry. She watches the panicked Guests swarm into the Atrium, her heart in her throat. Batiatus attempts to calm them. “The situation is being attended!   
Still your hearts! In a moment my Guards will have --” Screams cut him off as Crixus and his men surge past Mira into the villa. Blood splashes as they attack. Some with swords, some with the chains still binding them. Guests scramble to escape this new horror. Mira looks on, unable to   
process the depth of the violence. “They have lost mind” Numerius says. A frozen moment as Crixus locks eyes with Lucretia across the room. Her heart seizes in her chest at the hatred filling his eyes. A Guard attacks him, breaking the moment. “Come! Let us away!” Batiatus hustles Numerius, Domitia, and Lucretia away. Aurelia follows, terrified. “Where the fuck is Ilithyia?” Lucretia snaps. 

Screams echo. Ilithyia strides with Vesper, joining Glaber's Men stationed at the double doors of the main entrance. “Seal the doors. Let no one beyond them.“What of the guests? There are --” Vesper begins. “I am the wife of the Legatus! Seal the fucking doors!” Vesper swallows his doubt, nods to his men. Ilithyia sweeps through the doors just as Aemilia and a wave of panicked, bloodied Romans wash into the entryway. Vesper and the Men follow Ilithyia. She looks back, a cool smile of vengeance bending her lips. The doors close. Aemilia and the Romans slam into them, screaming and pounding to be let out. Vesper and Glaber's Men padlock the doors to keep the Romans from bursting through. The doors shudder, blood seeping from inside as Aemilia and the others are slaughtered. 

Batiatus hustles through the carnage with Lucretia, Domitia, Numerius, and Aurelia. A dying guard half collapses into Batiatus' arms as they round the corner. “The doors... Glaber's men... sealed   
the doors...” he says gurgling blood. “Ilithyia.” Lucretia says. “Why would she do such a thing --”  
Domitia screams as Danica rushes from the gloom. She throws up an arm to protect herself and it gets hacked off.“Mother!” Danica finishes her off. Batiatus grabs the dead Guard's sword and goes to run it through Danica who side steps and cut Batiatus before moving off. Rhaskos appears at the entrance, battling a Guard. Batiatus grips his sword, intent on fighting to save his house. “Go!”  
“Quintus” 

“GO!” Lucretia half drags Numerius away, the boy's eyes fixed on his dead mother. Aurelia follows as they move through the villa, weaving through bodies and avoiding Gladiators. They pause, holding breath as they spot Spartacus slaughtering a Guard. He snarls as the man falls, stalking away in search of his prey. Numerius watches the blood-drenched champion with horror. “We are all of us dead.” Numerius panics. “No. We will regain this House. Take Numerius and conceal yourself.” Aurelia hesitates, something dark passing just beneath her eyes before she takes Numerius' hand. “Come. I know a place.” “Where do you go?” Numerius asks Lucretia. “To my husband. And the death of Spartacus.” Lucretia sweeps out. 

The remaining Guards battle Agron, Duro, Hamilcar and a clutch of other bloodied Gladiators. Hamilcar is fatally wounded. “Hamilcar!” Duro flares, hacking and slashing. Agron cuts down a Guard, but another blind-sides him. Agron smashes to the ground, dazed. The Guard raises his sword for the death blow. Duro rushes in. The Guard whirls around. They trade quick blows -- and Duro gets run through the stomach. “Duro!” Agron surges to his feet and decapitates the Guard. Duro crumbles. Agron cradles him. Duro locks eyes with him, smiling through the agony.“I save you this time, brother...” he says. The light fades from his eyes. A frozen beat, shattered by Agron's scream as he rips the sword from Duro's body. He attacks the remaining Guards in a frenzy of blood. 

Doctore stalks through the corridors, passing the bodies of guards and Gladiators. “Ashur!”  
As he moves off, reveal Ashur hiding beneath a pile of blood soaked bodies. He watches Doctore go, his face twisting with hatred. Lucretia enters a room blood stains the walls. Lucretia whispers into the gloom. “Quintus...?” “You were right.” Lucretia freezes as Crixus emerges from the shadows behind her. Drenched in blood. Weak from poison. Sword in hand.“There is yet something between us.” he continues. “Crixus --” “Where did you send Naevia? Where?!” He grabs her by the throat and slams her against the wall. “See me and the dominus from the villa... and I will tell you.”  
Crixus searches her eyes, knowing her all too well. “I do not believe you.” Crixus says softly. “Crixus... please... our child” Crixus rams his sword into her stomach . She stiffens in shock, blood trickling from her mouth. “I would rather it dead, than suckle at your breast.” He rips the blade out and turns to go. She raises a trembling, blood-soaked hand to her eyes in horror.

Aurelia kills Numerius and Doctore takes her away to safety. Romans and Guards lay dead and dismembered. Mira comforts frightened house slaves, splattered with blood. Gladiators slit the   
throats of those clinging to life. Crixus half collapses into a chair, still fighting the drug in his   
system. He drinks from a cup of wine, his eyes finding Agronentering from the ludus, bloodied and spent. “Your brother?” Agron shakes his head, unable to speak through his grief. A solemn beat. Crixus hands him his cup of wine. A gesture of respect. Agron drinks. A commotion pulls their attention to Batiatus as he crashes in across the room, using his sword to fend off Danica who is taunting him. 

“I am your dominus! I will see your fucking heart for this!” he yells. “Quintus..” Batiatus freezes. Lucretia drifts through the carnage, pale and near death, her hand to her blood drenched stomach.   
Crixus watches without passion as she collapses to the floor. “Lucretia!” “What would you do?” Mira's heart catches as Spartacus appears, moving between Batiatus and Lucretia. Danica respectfully backs away. “To hold your wife again? To feel the warmth of her skin? The taste   
of her lips? How many men would you kill? A hundred? A thousand? There stands but one, between you and her.” Spartacus says. Batiatus screams, attacking. Spartacus counters. “Go to her. Tell her the gods themselves will not keep you apart. Lie. As you lied to me of my wife.” he continues.   
The shock of what this is about slams into Batiatus. He marshals his courage and attacks. Spartacus systematically slices him to pieces, careful to avoid the killing blow. Wishing to extend the moment.  
Lucretia watches from the floor as her husband cries out in pain, his wounds weeping blood. Batiatus trembles, tears spilling across his cheeks as he scans his men for mercy. His eyes   
fall on Doctore, entering with a shell-shocked Aurelia. 

“Oenomaus...” Batiatus says. A frozen beat. Doctore turns his eyes, unable to help -- or bear witness to his end. Batiatus' fear turns to rage as he screams at Spartacus. “You were nothing before me! I gave you the fucking heavens! I gave you means to accept your fate!” “And now you are destroyed by it.” Spartacus spits. Batiatus snarls as he attacks. Spartacus counters, spinning around and  
hacking open Batitatus' throat in a spray of blood. The sword falls from Batiatus' hand. He   
turns, takes a few steps towards Lucretia before collapsing to his knees. He locks eyes with her, face filled with longing and regret. The life drains from his face as he collapses at the foot of his statue, dead. Tears fall from Lucretia's eyes, before they too are stilled. Batiatus' blood spreads across the floor to merge with Lucretia's. Husband and wife, forever bound in death. 

Spartacus turns from his revenge to survey the Gladiators and House Slaves. The wounded and the frightened. His people. “I have done this thing... because it was just. Because blood demands   
blood. We have lived... and lost, at the whims of our masters for too long. I would not have it so.  
I would not see the passing of a brother for reasons of sport. I would not bear another heart ripped   
from chest, nor breath forfeit without cause. I know not all of you wished this. Yet it is done. It is done. Your lives are now your own. Forge your own path... or join with us, and together we shall see Rome tremble!” Spartacus says. The Gladiators erupt in response, as do most of the Slaves.   
Agron and Danica practically froth at the mouth. Doctore takes this in, uncertain. Crixus rises, gaining strength as he adds his own voice to the roar of freedom. 

The gates are smashed open. Spartacus is first out, with Danica, Crixus, Doctore, and Agron close behind. The Gladiators, Mira, Aurelia, and the other Slaves swarming behind them. Spartacus charges. Sword raised. A battle cry twisting his lips. As his vengeance fills the air.


	15. HELP

Hey guys   
I need your help as you can see I've finished the first part of my fanfic but I've hit a bit of a problem I cant find the scripts for Vengeance so I cant continue this fic until I can find them so if anybody knows where I can find them or has a link or something to them can you please let me know as like I say I cant continue without them. Any help would be appreciated.  
Thank you   
Jaymi xx


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